


Where There's Smoke

by TozaBoma



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer, Supernatural
Genre: Books, Demons, Faeries - Freeform, Gen, may be a dragon involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TozaBoma/pseuds/TozaBoma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean find an unlikely ally in the war against… library books. John Constantine? All he wants is a quiet life. That's not the canon way though, right? Rated Teen and Up for adult themes, slightly horrific things that go om-nom-nom in the dark, sinister tones, a bit of rumpy-pumpy, and John's swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after Supernatural 10x04, so contains references and spoilers. Constantine is a mix of Hellblazer!John and MattRyan!John. No real spoilers as far as I’m aware.

ONE

 

“You sure this is the place?” Dean whispered. 

Sam nodded. He stole across the open plan office, one hand full of knife, the other busy with a flashlight. “Look,” he hissed.

Dean realised Sam was watching a dark shape through the frosted window of a door. He kept his back to the wall and slid round the room to be one side of it. He gestured to it with his head.

Sam plastered himself against the wall on the opposite side. They looked at each other.

Sam ripped the door open.

The man inside jumped in surprise. He staggered around to see Dean come through the door. The Winchester raised his long, inscribed knife. “What are you doing in here?” he demanded.

The stranger, no more than fifty years old and dressed in a rather cheap business suit, waved his hands in surrender. “Wait! Don’t hurt me!” he cried.

Sam swished his knife behind his back hastily. He looked around the office. “Sir - are you alone? What are you doing in here?”

“I work here!” the man spluttered. He eyed the knife still obvious in Dean’s hand. “Please don’t kill me!”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?”

The man jumped. “M-me? My name?”

“Your name!” Dean shouted. “What’s your name?”

“Uh - Bill,” he stammered. “Bill Torrence. I’m just an accountant, I swear—“

“You _swear_ ,” Dean interrupted, rather sarcastically. He noticed Sam checking the room, taking stock. Dean appraised the man. “Well we tracked you down, pal. Nice handiwork, by the way.”

“Wh - what?” Bill asked nervously.

“Those two women in the dumpster? Tell me, when _did_ they die? Before or after you ripped their skin off?”

“Skin? What are you talking about?” Bill cried.

“Where are the other two women?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Bill shouted. “What women?”

“There were four in the car! The two in the dumpster account for half of the people you snatched. Now I hope for your sake that you have the other two women holed up somewhere - _alive_ ,” Dean stressed.

“You’re crazy!”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said with a matter-of-fact nod. He advanced on Bill. “Game’s over. You’re coming with us, Bill. And I swear, if you turn out to be a werewolf and not a vampire, I’ll be upset.”

“Wh-what?” Bill asked, his face going white.

“Dean,” Sam said quickly. “He was in the safe.”

Bill looked at the desk next to him, at the way Sam was eyeing the open door on the small steel box set into the floor. “No I wasn’t,” he said quietly.

“What were you looking for?” Sam asked. He crouched and checked the contents; rolls of money, some paperwork, and a red ledger.

“N - nothing,” Bill said. “It was open when I came in—“

“You didn’t want the money, or the papers,” Sam mused. He got to his feet. “So tell us what you thought was in there.”

Bill looked from one Winchester to the other. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Those four women all worked here - did you take them to find out what was in here?” Sam asked.

“The two in the dumpster - they were pretty cut up,” Dean said. “You tortured them to get in here, to get into the safe? What would a vampire want with the contents of a safe?”

“Werewolf,” Sam said.

“Fifty bucks _still_ says vampire,” Dean replied.

“Vampire? Werewolf? You two are _cracked!_ ” Bill whimpered.

Dean grabbed for his shirt front. Bill stepped back - and Dean went flying backwards into the far wall. 

Sam brandished his charmed knife. “I wouldn’t,” he warned.

Bill’s shoulders relaxed, and all fear and anxiety slipped off him like rain from a window. He sighed, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “Now look what you made me do, Dean,” he said. He put his hands on his hips and looked up at Sam. “You two,” he said, shaking a finger at Sam. “You two are a pain in every demon’s ass, do you know that?”

Sam kept his knife ready. “Who are you?”

Dean pushed himself to his feet. Bill turned to watch him, ignoring Sam completely. “As if I’d tell you two idiots.”

“Ok,” Dean said, as if to himself. “Let’s wrap this up, Sam. Take him home and get him to spill.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Bill snorted.

“That wasn’t the kind of ‘spilling’ I meant,” Dean said.

Bill glared at him. He cleared his throat. “You can’t hurt me.”

“No really, we can,” Sam said firmly.

Dean smiled. “You black eyed freaks really do get complacent.”

“Black?” the man laughed. “Oh Dean. You underestimate me. This is awesome.”

“You know what? We’ll just torture the location of the two women out of you and then send you back to Hell,” Dean snapped.

“Uh… no, you won’t.” He blinked - and his eyes flashed up _yellow_. Sam and Dean’s faces dropped. The man grinned. “Azazel wasn’t the only Big Man on Campus. So yeah, you brought a knife to a gunfight.”

“Have you checked with the king?” Dean asked. “Last time I looked, me and him were drinking buddies. Touching either of us two is a big no-no.”

“Crowley can suck it,” the man growled. “He’s no king to me. You two ruined him, you Winchesters. You turned him into a love-sick puppy, except he doesn’t know what he loves any more.” He glared at Sam. “For that alone, I’m going to enjoy cutting you down to size.”

Dean began to smile as he shoved the knife into his jacket and pulled a gun from the back of his jeans. “Speaking of.” He fired twice.

The man buckled and shouted in rage as he landed on the carpet. Sam found his own gun as Dean shuffled round the desk to look down.

“Feel that?” he snarled. “Special bullets, just for demons.”

The man writhed on the floor, his hands trying to get purchase on the carpet. “You - you - bastard!” he raged.

The side of Dean’s face hitched up in a half-smile. “Oh wait - I forgot one.” He fired straight at the man’s head.

Sam jumped. He let his gun hand drop as he edged around the desk. The demon was trying to reach a hand up. His strength left him and he collapsed back onto the floor. 

Sam looked up at his brother. “Right, so we know that works on demons that _aren’t_ knights of Hell,” he said awkwardly. He watched Dean’s gun drop to his side.

Dean sniffed and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Let’s get him back to the Batcave, Sam - find out where those two women are and what he was looking for. It’ll take him a while to do any real damage now he’s got that bullet in his brainpan.”

Sam swallowed. “You could have warned me. —That you were going to shoot him.”

“Come on, Sam - he’s a yellow-eyed demon. What did you _think_ I was going to do? Buy him a beer?” He pushed the gun into his pocket and then bent down. “Gimme a hand with him.”

Sam pocketed his gun and ran his hands back through his hair, shaking his head. He crouched and lifted the man under the arms. “We need his name,” he grunted as they picked him up and went for the door.

“Oh he’ll give us his name,” Dean gruffed. 

“What if he wasn’t looking for anything special?” Sam heaved him out of the door, Dean bringing up the rear, blood smearing on his hands from the wounds to the man’s knees.

“Then we just kill him,” Dean grunted as Sam continued to back up. They hefted the demon out of the front door and into the car park. “Not the way I thought my weekend would go,” Dean said to himself. “But hey, always good to have an asshat to torture.”

“You mean interrogate,” Sam said, as they paused by the boot of the Impala.

“That’s what I said.” He dropped the man’s knees to go through his pockets for his car keys.

Sam just watched, at a loss to do much else, as Dean opened up the trunk and lifted the man’s knees again. They folded him into the boot and stood back. Dean grinned as he shut the lid. He wiped his hands and walked off around the car to the driver’s door.

Sam looked back at the boot. Then he hurried to the passenger door as Dean started up the engine.

 

ooOoo

 

The dim light, the odd smell of damp and sour water, the uncomfortable chill - he lifted his head and opened sore eyes. The floor was concrete, painted up with his most hated devil’s trap, he noticed. His hands chained to the metal chair began to sting just a little. He hissed as he realised the entire chair was reacting to his demonic presence. He looked up and found another devil’s trap above him on the ceiling, even criss-crossing the lights and extractor fan.

A scraping sound made him try to look behind him. He twisted as best he could, but the chains around his wrists and ankles made it nearly impossible.

Boots echoed on the floor and then Sam and Dean came into view. Sam was carrying a notepad and a pencil. Dean had his arms folded, a wide, malicious grin on his face, as he noticed two bloodied bullets on the floor.

“Morning,” he said brightly. “Having trouble ejecting that bullet in your head?”

“Screw you,” the demon coughed.

Dean looked at his brother. “I don’t think he’s comfortable, Sam. We should do something about that.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Listen. Tell us where the other two women are. Tell us what you were after from that safe and why… and we’ll just send you home.”

The demon swished something around his mouth. Then he simply spat at Sam.

Dean’s head tilted. His arms dropped. He stepped forward and his fist went into the man’s face. He cried out in pain, the chair bouncing up with the force of the blow. “Not cool,” Dean warned. “Come on, man. Play the game. Give us what we want.”

The yellow eyes glittered as they smiled back at Dean. Blood ran down the man’s chin. “Oh Dean,” he sighed. “I’ve missed _proper_ violence. People just don’t understand how to do it right. But you do, don’t you? You like it. You miss it when your brother gives you that look that makes you leash it for the time being. But you miss it. You know you do.”

Dean stood back. His eyes bored holes into the demon’s. Then he looked at Sam. “Your turn.”

Sam nodded, not caring if Dean saw how grateful he was. He turned to the demon. “ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio_ —“

The demon jerked and swore, but his eyes shone up at Sam. “Not going to cut it, boy.”

“— _Infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_ ,” Sam continued. He raised his voice as the man squirmed and spat at him. “ _Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te! Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare!_ ”

The demon began to laugh. “That tickles!” he cried. “I told you, that’s not going to do a damn thing. Not to someone on my paygrade.”

Dean stepped up to him and the back of his fist went across his face. The man blurted out a cry of pain. Dean grabbed his hair and yanked his head back to look at him. “You’re trapped in that meatsuit, numb-nuts. That means you can hurt just like we can.” 

The demon laughed. “But I _like_ it,” he grinned. He turned his head to spit blood away from Dean. “Please, carry on.”

Dean stepped back one, thinking. 

Sam cleared his throat. “So you thought it would be in a safe. It’s not money, and I don’t think you’d be looking to shoot up. What was it? What would you kidnap four workers to find?”

“That safe wasn’t big,” Dean mused, as he glared at the demon.

“True,” Sam nodded. “What’s your name?”

The man grinned. “Barney.”

Dean stepped forward and his fist went into his face. His head bounced off the chair but he laughed. Dean turned and looked at Sam. 

He frowned. “What’s your name?”

“Alfred,” the demon chuckled.

Again, Dean’s hand flashed into his evil grin. He spat blood, shaking his head.

“What’s your name?” Sam demanded.

The demon swallowed, taking his time. “Wait…” he managed. “Ok, wait.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. 

The man coughed and then smiled. “Lilith.”

Dean walked around behind him, his hand going into his back pocket. The man tensed, waiting for some kind of blow.

But Dean grabbed his hair and yanked his head right back. He lifted something over the man’s head and began to tip. Water dribbled down onto his face. The man writhed and screamed, but Dean kept a good hold. 

He paused, tipping the hip flask of water upright again. “I thought you enjoyed pain.”

The man panted in air, the holy steam around him clearing. “That’s - that’s cheating,” he coughed.

“Winchester,” Dean said clearly. He tipped again; a thin trickle began to splash down.

The man shouted and cursed, struggled and pulled. “Gaah! Alright! Alright! Just stop that!”

Dean lifted the flask. He let go of the man to screw the cap back on and shove it into his back pocket. 

The demon sucked in grateful air, adjusting his slouch more upright. “Ok. It was just a book.”

Dean pulled the flask out of his pocket again with a sigh. Sam folded his arms. “A book?” he scoffed.

The man looked up at him with large, yellow eyes made of hate. “A book. That’s all I know. It’s supposed to be useful.”

“To who?” Sam demanded.

“Get a clue, genius!” the man hurled. “Why would we all be after it?”

“But it wasn’t there,” Dean said from behind him. “You snatched four women who worked in that office. You tortured two of them, but I’m thinking they didn’t tell you where it was.”

“ _None_ of you know where it is,” Sam mused.

The man pursed his lips and sniffed to himself.

Dean looked over at Sam. He gestured behind the chair with his head and Dean turned without a word. He walked away.

The demon tried to twist and see, but he was chained fast. Instead he chuckled to himself as he heard the long scrape of some kind of furniture behind him.

 

ooOoo

 

Sam closed the bookshelf doors to the room and looked at his brother. He was rubbing the knuckles of his right hand in thought.

“What do you think?” Sam asked him quietly. “He’s not going to tell us where the other two hostages are. Do we really need to know what this book is?”

“If every demon wants it, maybe it’s important,” Dean said. “What if we find it first? Do you think you can work out what it is?”

“I could try,” Sam shrugged. “Do you think it’s harmful to them, or to someone they’re at war with?”

“Do you think it could do him some damage? Could we use it to torture him a little, find out where these women are?”

“Where do we even start looking?” Sam asked. “I mean, if they’ve got demons all over the country looking for it, how do we find out what it _is_ so we can track it down? Do we go looking for this book, or just find the women ourselves?”

Dean let his eyes wander around the corridor. “They could be anywhere. The cops said the woman’s car was abandoned. Who knows how far she’d driven before he jumped them?” He huffed to himself. “I hate to say it, but I reckon they’re just tied up somewhere. If he wasn’t sure the book was in the safe, wouldn’t he keep someone to torture later on?”

“Assuming he hasn’t just killed them already,” Sam sighed.

Dean began to walk away, down the corridor, and Sam followed. “We need to find those women,” Dean said, “but we also need to get to this demon book. Maybe it can help us torture the son of a bitch to find out where these women are. So… we should get the book first.” He paused. “Do you know anyone who might be able to guess at this?”

“I would have asked Bobby,” Sam sighed.

“Or Garth,” Dean said quietly. 

“Hey, uh… do you reckon Crowley knows?”

Dean stopped dead in the corridor. “No I do not. And I don’t want him anywhere near any of this.”

“Um. Ok,” Sam said awkwardly.

Dean frowned at him. “The moment he gets wind of any of this is the moment we lose control.”

“We?”

Dean glared. “Of the situation. We’ve run out of bargaining chips where he’s concerned.” He paused. “We steer clear. Ok?”

“Ok with me,” Sam said darkly. “ _Totally_ ok with me.”

They walked on until they came out to the main room. Sam went to his chair down the side of one of the the long tables, pushing books and research materials out the way. He picked up his phone and started looking through contacts. Dean went to a bookcase on the wall and pulled out a wooden box. He carried it to the table opposite Sam and took off the lid, looking in.

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“Phones. Every one we’ve ditched or found along the way.” He reached in and picked one out, flipping it open and pressing the power button. “You never know what’s on the voicemail, or who’s in the contact list.”

“So we’re cold-calling now?” Sam smiled.

Dean picked out another phone and tossed it to him. Sam caught it and pulled it open. Dean scrolled through his contacts and smiled. “These were all Bobby’s. Someone here has to know something. We go through each one till we get some answers.”

“And if we don’t?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t look up. Instead he put the phone to his ear and turned away from the desk.

Sam looked at the phone in his hands. He went to the contacts list and started at the top.

 

ooOoo

 

“Oh, hey. Yeah, it’s Sam - yeah, Winchester,” he said. “Yeah I know. So… how’s Pahrump, Max?” He paused, listening. He looked across the room at Dean, finding him similarly engaged in conversation. Then Dean snapped the phone closed and tossed it to the table, running his hand through his hair in resignation. “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Sam said down the phone. “So I’m really calling about a book. Yeah. No, it’s nothing something Bobby had - I’ve already checked. Got a friend who went through all his stuff for us, yeah.” He paused. “Right, so… have you heard anything about demons looking for a book right about now? —Well we got one, but he’s not being very helpful. No - yellow. Yeah, I know, right? An actual yellow-eyed-demon in the basement.” He sniffed. “We have no idea. We tried an exorcism but he literally laughed it off.” He listened for a full minute. “Ok… uh-huh. Got it. But you don’t have the… Sure. Ok. Oh really? And how did you—. Ah. Right.” He snapped his fingers at Dean. “I’m gonna put you on speaker, Max. Dean’s here, he’ll want to hear this.”

Dean sat down and waited as Sam put the phone on the table, pressing the requisite key.

“—He there now? Can you hear me?” came a woman’s voice.

“Hey Max. This is Dean,” he said. “Have we met?”

“When you were about… ooh, nineteen,” she chuckled. “You and your dad did a job in Flagstaff. A haunting? Married couple trying to burn their old house down with the new occupants in it?”

“Oh - yeah! That,” he grinned. “Wow. Has it been that long?”

“Tell me about it. First of all, you need some ancient curse to get rid of a yellow-eyed-demon. A normal exorcism won’t cut it.”

“So we heard,” Dean nodded.

“Good news is, it’s probably in a book. Let me back up.” Max paused. “Sam here was asking if demons are into books. Well I had a bit of a conversation with a black-eyed bastard just three days ago. Turns out he was searching some library for a book - really old. He was in the ancient stuff section. Me and a friend bagged and tagged him, gave him some quality time with some Latin and some holy water. In the end he said ‘Soyga’. That was it.”

“Wait - the book of Soyga?” Sam said.

“You know it?” Max asked.

“Yeah - that could get rid of a yellow-eyed-demon for us. He’d tell us where his hostages are.”

“Shit - are you on a time limit?” Max asked.

“Yeah. We need to find two women he’s got holed up somewhere.”

“Right,” she said. “You know, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass for some dusty old book. I’d rather have a good weapon,” Max grumped.

“Woman after my own heart,” Dean smiled.

“How you faring, Dean?” she asked. “Word around the campfire was you went off the res for a while there.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Just for a while. I’m all good, though. Sam saw to that.”

Sam kept his eyes on the phone. “So did he say where this book of Soyga was?”

“He might have said the only place they hadn’t looked was the one place they _couldn’t_ look.”

“A church?” Dean guessed.

“Nah - the ancient library. You’re luck - it’s open until tomorrow night. It closes right on midnight,” she said.

“Which ancient library?” Dean asked.

“Oh come on, Dean. _The_ ancient library. The one place they will only be able to get into until tomorrow night. Get there first, boys. And make sure you leave the library before midnight.”

“Uhm… ok,” Sam shrugged. “Thanks, Max. You’ve cleared this whole thing up for us.”

“No sweat, Sam. Just one day, you two come over to Pahrump and help me throw a weekend bender for all us hunters still alive and kicking.”

“You bet,” Dean grinned. “So where is this library?”

Max laughed. “You’re cute. Everyone knows where it is.”

“Then why doesn’t _everyone_ go and get the book there?” Sam asked innocently.

“You’ll see,” she said, a grin evident by her tone. “It’s in Little Rock. I’ll text you the address. You’ll want it in your satnav.”

“Our sat-what?” Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Max. Really. We owe you one.”

“Then get down here to Pahrump and make good on it - I’ll be waiting. You boys take care.”

“Thanks, Max,” Dean said.

“Thanks,” Sam added quickly.

The line went dead and Sam closed the phone. He looked at Dean. “You think she meant—?”

“I don’t want to think about it until this case is done,” Dean said. “But yeah, I think she did.” He sat back in his chair. “A hunter’s kegger. For a whole weekend. Now _that’s_ a perk of the job.”

Sam smiled. The phone buzzed and he picked it up. “Got the address.”

Dean stood up. “Then we’re going to Little Rock.”

“That’s like… It’s going to take us like…” He pressed at something on the screen of his phone. “Eight and a half hours of driving.”

“That’s our best bet for finding the book, Sam. We need to get there and back as quick as we can if we’re going to find these women.”

“Alright. Are we leaving the demon in the basement here by himself?”

Dean paused. “Well _I_ ain’t taking him on a joyride to Arkansas.”

Sam got up. “Then we’ll make him wait in discomfort. I’ll set the traps and get my stuff.”

“Meet you at the car.”

 


	2. Two

TWO

 

 

Dean squeaked the door open on the Impala, checking the wet parking lot for witnesses. The place was still, silent, serene. It was also very very dark. 

Sam climbed out of the passenger side to the damp tarmac, stretching briefly before he checked his watch. “Nearly ten, Dean.”

“Then everyone definitely will have left,” he smiled, going round the back of the car to the boot. He opened it up and fished around inside. “This place better be easy to get into. Let’s not hang around.”

“I heard that.”

The two of them turned and looked up at the square building behind them. Tall, white-bricked and eerily lit by small footlights around its base, it watched them with derision as they went straight from the parking space to the front doors. A few moments of Sam’s industrious use of picks later and they were heaving back the huge doors and poking their heads in.

The library inside was dimly lit and sparsely furnished. Every wall was lined with impossibly old tomes, huge volumes of paper of all shapes and sizes. The Winchesters nodded to each other and Dean stole into the open room past the large entry desk. Sam looked back at the door, about to push it closed. He noticed a tidemark of moisture on the ground.

“Weird,” he mused, crouching to find the inside was perfectly dry, as if the earlier rain had stopped a polite few inches away from the door. He got up, shut the door, and followed his brother across the wooden floorboards.

Dean had halted in the middle. He waved his hands out. “Great. Well, it’s a library alright. Now where’s the book?”

“Uh…” Sam pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped away with his thumb. “Should be under… uhm…”

“What’s it even called again?”

“The book of Soyga,” Sam said. Dean turned and looked at him - just looked. Sam gave him his best well-meaning-yet-completely-hapless smile. Dean rolled his eyes and headed for the nearest bookcase. Sam’s hand dropped and he went for the opposite side of the room, even as Dean began reading the list of categories from the chart on the end of the bookcase.

Eventually, after much searching, Sam spun in a lazy circle to locate Dean’s head. Catching sight of him behind a long shelf, he started across the room.

The door creaked open far to his left. He looked over - then he simply shrank back into the dark end of the bookshelf. Only his eyes could be seen through the defensive row of books in front of his nose.

Dean had already flattened himself out, his back against the shelf nearest him. His hand went inside his jacket and he pulled out a shiny knife. Sam slid up the other side, freeing a long machete from under his coat.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” came a sing-song voice.

Dean frowned. He did not move, not even to check Sam’s position.

“I know you’re in here somewhere. I can _smell_ you,” the voice added. Female and very creamy, it reminded Dean of hot chocolate - the expensive kind of Belgian that came with floating marshmallows.

Sam waved a hand. He waited until Dean had noticed and was paying attention, then motioned around his back. Dean nodded. Sam slipped off the way he had come, away from the voice. He disappeared round the back of the shelving.

Dean took a single step to the end of the bookshelf. He pressed his head back, listening. Then he popped a single eye round the edge.

Something dark and large flashed into his face. It collided with his cheekbone. His head bounced off the wood behind him. He just about kept his footing - until a well-placed boot in the nether regions made him fall to the floor faster than a piece of freshly buttered toast.

Laughter happened over his head. His hand clenched, still around the knife. He got a knee and a foot under him and pushed up. His head connected sharply with something organic and it shouted in shock.

As he reached his full height, rubbing a hand across his forehead to somehow negate the screaming pain to his man-bits, his eyes fell on a grey trouser suit and bouncy, shoulder-length brown hair. The woman drew the back of her hand over her nose delicately, looking down at it to check for blood. She sniffed and then her head tilted at Dean’s attempt to not look like a wounded animal.

“Got you,” she purred. Her laughing eyes went down and up him slowly. “Now where’s Malakatch?” She put her hand out just as Sam launched himself at her from behind. He was shoved backwards as if a gigantic invisible hand had swatted at him. Dean saw him sprawl on his back, but at least Sam began to get right back up again. Dean met her eyes - and was very unsurprised indeed to see them turn black all over. “Why are you here?” she asked.

A wide, sarcastic smile spread over Dean’s features. “They got the world’s biggest catalogue of porn.”

She flicked a hand and he slammed up and into the shelves. A massive _smack_ to the back of his head made him let go of the knife. It went skittering along the wooden floorboards. The next second something with the weight and intent of a speeding freight train walloped into his temple. As he skidded along the floor on his side, part of his brain took in the squeak. Another part registered Sam’s shout of vengeful warning.

Dean groaned and flopped onto his back as he tried to make the spinning feeling calm down and let him get up. A blink: polystyrene ceiling tiles and strip lights. A blink: rows and rows of banned and arcane books. A shout of fury, half a latin invocation; he was dimly aware of Sam flying through the air.

Sam hammered into the far wall. Books flew out from the shallow shelves around his head. He fought himself to his hands and knees. He scrabbled across the floor of the library for his brother’s fallen weapon. “Dean!” he called.

Dean managed a grunt but the world was spinning faster now, accompanied by black and purple dots in his vision. Sam snatched up the knife. Before he could get to his feet, a large hand gripped his windpipe.

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” came the accompanying sneer. Sam concentrated on breathing. A face loomed into view - large, brilliant black eyes, a wicked curl of an otherwise charming lip covered in very expensive, fire engine red lipstick, the smell of sulphur so strong Sam could taste it - it was all he could do not to pass out through lack of air. “You know,” the voice went on, “I expected more. You two are supposed to be dangerous. Every single demon knows of you. They’re all shit-scared of a Winchester. Oh, they pretend they’re just dying to rend your flesh from every single one of your bones, but really?” The woman grinned. “They’re all so full of it.”

“With good - good reason,” Sam spluttered. “You should be - more careful, lady.”

The hand shoved and he was hurled into the wall. He slammed into it back-first. His slide to the floor was fast and painful. His hand still wrapped round the knife, he found Dean not far to his left. He reached a hand out and shook at his arm. Dean did not respond.

“Tell me where Malakatch is and I’ll kill you quickly,” she announced.

Sam looked up at her. Nearly six feet tall, her long, brown hair was a perfect storm of tousled and salon-perfect waviness. Her office suit hugged all of her curves, her black stilettos _click-click_ ing across the wooden boards as she stopped in front of the pair of hunters. 

Sam’s eyes darted to the large front doors behind her. He got a better grip on the knife. “Look, we didn’t come here for you, but we’re going to take you down anyway.”

“What _you’re_ going to do is die a horrible death.” She grinned, and suddenly her face was less brown beauty and more nightmare-inducing shadow. “ _I’m_ going to enjoy gutting you like a prize-winning bass, Sam Winchester.”

There was a creak. Sam’s eyes went back to the doors as one swung open just enough for a black shoe to enter. The demon growled at Sam but his eyes widened on the beige raincoat that slipped in through the gap to enter the room.

“Cas,” he breathed. “Thank God.”

“‘Fraid not, squire,” said the owner of the coat.

The woman turned. She backed away from the man as he walked straight toward her. “No!”

“ _Yes_. Well, maybe.” The blonde-haired man stuck a cigarette in his mouth, puffing away as his hands went into his black trouser pockets. “Now then, where did I leave my—. Oh sod it,” he heaved. “It’s in me other trousers.”

The woman backed up one more. Her face flickered through anger, wariness, worry.

Sam took the opportunity to grab Dean’s shoulders and haul him round and away from the unexpected stand-off on the other side of the room. He slapped at his face. “Dean,” he hissed. “Hey - come on. Wake up.”

The man in the trenchcoat pulled the cigarette from his mouth, straightened up in front of the woman, and fixed her with a shit-eating grin. “Me and you, love. What do you say?”

“You are not allowed here,” she snarled.

“You’re absolutely right,” he nodded. “Thing is - _neither are you_.”

“I go where I choo—”

“Now come on,” the man grinned. “We both know that’s a lie. He’s looking for you, you know. All I have to do is say his name, and he’ll come bounding in here like a faithful labrador - well, more like Cujo, I suppose - and rip that head right off your shoulders. Only, this is your last hiding place, innit?”

“You bastard.”

He sniffed to himself before flicking ash from his cigarette in her direction deliberately. “Never said I wasn’t. So what’ll it be? You leaving? Or do I have to make a complaint to your management?”

“I could rip _your_ head off,” she growled. She made a half-hearted reach for his face.

He put a hand up and pushed hers from his line of sight firmly. “Ooh, you could try, love,” he said, his eyes twinkling dark with disapproval. “Time for you to leave.” 

She took a step back. “You think I cannot harm you, because of your lame excuse for protection magic?”

He took a long drag on the cigarette before huffing out a stream of smoke through his nose, considering her all the while. “Doesn’t matter what I think - only what we both _know_ ,” he said amiably. “You’ve got to the count of three to leg it. After that… well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His shoe slid through the ash on the floor. 

She backed up one. “I’m taking these two.”

He shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re hauling that nice arse of yours out of here PDQ.” He flicked more ash from his cigarette. Again his right shoe moved.

“I’ll tear you apart,” she seethed.

“You know you won’t,” he smirked. He cleared his throat, then looked down deliberately. Her gaze followed. He looked up at her again, his cigarette hand pointing at the very precise lines of mess he had made on the floorboards. “That’s him summoned. Like I said, you’ve got till the count of three. Don’t let the door bang your arse on the way out, love.”

She launched herself at him.

“Shit!” He crouched so fast his hands had to go to the floorboards. 

But the woman whooshed over his head. He fancied he felt the scorching touch of Hell itself down his back.

The door slammed shut.

He looked across the room at Sam, who was still staring his with mouth hanging half open. “Alright, mate?” he asked. “We’ve got about five minutes before she realises her king ain’t coming to drag her home. We should really get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He shook himself, then yanked on Dean to get him sat up.

“Bloody hell - is he alright to walk?” the man asked. 

He got to his feet and wiped his hands together as he crossed the room to Sam. He helped him to manhandle Dean up to a standing slump. Between them they walked the insensate Winchester out of the room and across the library proper. They made it to the main doors to the building before the man looked around as if his Spidey-sense had just gone off. 

“Faster,” he said, and they hurried from the doors and into the dark car park. “That yours?” he asked.

Sam looked at the Impala, waiting faithfully two empty spaces away. “Kinda.”

“You couldn’t give me a lift, could you?” 

“Get in,” Sam said.

He opened up the car and Dean was pushed on the back seat, face up. Sam climbed behind the wheel and the man folded both himself and his raincoat into the passenger seat. He ran a hand through his blonde hair and got comfortable. “Tell me you’ve got this car protected.”

Sam whisked the classic out of the parking lot and onto the open road. “From every angle. So… thanks,” he said nervously. “How did you just talk her down like that?”

“It’s not a ‘her’,” the man said. He put his hand in his inside pocket and produced a white box of something Sam’s eyes determined were labelled ‘Silk Cut’. “Do you mind?” the man asked.

“Do I _mind_?” Sam scoffed. “After what just happened, I don’t think I care. —But open the window,” he added, his eyes darting to the sight of Dean still out for the count on the back seat. “As long he doesn’t wake up and see you smoking in his car, you’ll live.”

The man grinned. He wound the window right down, sticking his head out. He breathed in a deep lungful of moist night air and let it all out with gusto. “Nice night for it,” he said cheerfully. The next moment he had produced a lighter and was setting fire to the end of a fresh cigarette. He pocketed the lighter and rested his right hand, and the cigarette, just shy of being inside the car window. He twisted to look back over the seat at Dean. “He’ll be alright, you know. Just a smack to the head, I reckon.” He sat round again, then leant over to his right hand to get another lungful from his cigarette. “So you’re Sam, are you? Sam Winchester, she called you.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat as the man enjoyed his Silk Cut. “So why did you decide to get stuck into a demon fight?”

“Not much of a fight, mate. More of a playground pissing contest.” He took a drag on his cigarette, then flicked ash out of the window. “I’ve been following her for a while. Was hoping to get something from her whilst I was down this way, but I’ve kind of scared her off for now. I can leave it for a bit, wait till she’s stopped looking over her shoulder for me. Then I’ll be catching her up.”

Sam looked at him for a long moment, then quickly put his eyes back to the night road in front. “What could you possibly want from _her?_ ”

“A few names. Very useful, in the right hands at the right time.”

Sam shook his head as if to clear it. “Are you a hunter? Who the hell are you?”

An unearthly scream whipped at the rear of the car. Sam managed not to jerk the steering wheel, and by extension the car, into the hedge. His passenger turned to look behind the Impala. He cursed something that didn’t just turn the air blue but in fact caused it to choke and die on his vitriol. Sam barely flicked his gaze up the rear-view mirror before stamping on the accelerator.

“Faster, mate, faster!” the man hissed. “That bird has friends!”

The classic shot off as fast as her tyres could take her. Black clouds smoked up against the rear window. They battered on the glass.

The man looked back through the car to the rear window. “Bloody typical. Every time I leave the charmed house.” He took a deep drag of his cigarette before flicking it out of the window. His hands went to the sill and before Sam could get a word out, he grabbed the roof and turned to sit on the sill. “Oi! Wankers!” he shouted. “We exorcise you - every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion of the infernal adversary, every legion, every congregation and diabolical sect! Thus cursed demon and every diabolical legion, we adjure you! Cease to deceive human creatures and give to them the poison of eternal Perdition!” The black smoke recoiled and screeched. “That means piss off whence you came, you bunch of useless tossers!”

The smoke fell behind. It wisped and rolled itself together. Suddenly it shot upward and was lost to human sight in the gathering rainclouds above. The man smiled. He pushed himself back in through the window and got comfortable in the seat. His hand went into his inside pocket and pulled out his Silk Cut.

“Uh - thanks,” Sam said, his face registering something between relief and surprise at being impressed. “ _Now_ will you tell me who you are?”

The man lit up a fresh cigarette and turned to propel the stream of resulting smoke out of the window. “Who, little old me?” he smiled. “John, mate. John Constantine.”

 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I do not condone smoking in any form. It’s bad for you. Don’t do it. Even in comic books it works out badly for everyone. Just ask John.

THREE

 

 

Sam heaved his brother out of the back seat of the car and shuffled him, an arm over his shoulder, to the motel door. “Oh, ah… key,” he realised, wondering just how to get the door key from his pocket and into John’s hand.

But he heard the door open and then John was standing back. “You must have left it open,” he said innocently.

Sam decided not to dwell on it. Instead he got Dean inside and all but dropped him on the bed nearest the entrance. He stood back and swept hair out of his own eyes as the door closed behind him. He turned to see John had followed him in. He was standing at the window, looking out through the grey curtains. “What were you doing in that library?” Sam asked.

The man in the raincoat turned and looked at him. “Books,” he shrugged. Sam frowned. John put a hand up. “Alright, fair enough.” He stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “How much do you know about that woman tonight?”

“She wasn’t a woman,” Sam said. “At least, not on the inside. She was a demon. We came to get something from the library - she jumped us.”

“So you’re up on demons and what they do to people?” John asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Oh… pretty much,” Sam nodded. He folded his arms. “But you just _talked_ to her and she ran. What did you say?”

John stretched his shoulders out, then went to the bed and looked down at Dean. “Told her I’d summoned her boss. See, she’s on the outs with him. She’s been running for years. And if I happened to let him know where she’s hiding out these days, I’d score some much-needed Brownie points. —And she knows that.”

“She said you used protection magic. Are you a hunter?”

John pulled something out of his inside raincoat pocket and offered it to Sam, still watching Dean. “Not at all.”

Sam took the small white item, finding it to be a business card. “John Constantine,” he read. “Exorcist, demonologist and master of the dark arts.”

John waved a dismissive hand at him. “Sounds poncy, I know. I’ve really got to get that changed to something far less up-my-arse,” he said. Sam blinked, then shook his head as he let the card drop to his side. John went back to the window and looked out. “I take it you didn’t get your book then,” he said.

“No,” Sam said.

“And you need it for something very important.”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t we let your partner-in-crime there sleep off his concussion, and you and me go back and get it? Don’t know about you mate, but I’d rather I wasn’t on my own till this is done.” He turned from the curtains and smiled up at Sam.

The altitudinous Winchester considered him for a long moment. “Look… thanks for the save and everything, but… we can take care of it tomorrow morning.”

“It won’t be there tomorrow morning,” John said.

“What?”

John looked at his feet. “We’ve got about… what, just over an hour before midnight? That’s when it disappears again for another hundred years.”

“How do you know that?”

“Little bird told me.”

Sam’s face darkened. “Are you going to tell me what _you’re_ doing here?”

John pulled the small box of Silk Cut from his inside pocket and lit up a cigarette slowly, enjoying the first drag as if he had all the time in the world. “I was after Valebrand,” he said. “She was the demon who knocked you two on your arses tonight.”

“Yeah and she’s gone, so—“

“She’s not gone. She’s just out of sight,” John said, stuffing the cigarette back in his mouth. “She’ll stay out of sight long enough for us to get back into that library.”

“So you’re here for a book.”

“No, I’m here for a dragon.”

Sam sniffed, and the way his jaw took on a keen edge advertised to the entire room just how much he was enjoying the conversation. “You want us to go back there and get a book each.”

“I want a book. You can get what you want whilst we’re there,” John said. His hand went back to his cigarette.

Dean grunted something and his eyes opened. His left hand came up and flailed for a second, until Sam went to his side and grabbed his wrist.

“Dean - you’re ok, man.” He watched his brother force his eyes open and keep them that way. He let go of his arm.

“What the hell happened?” Dean managed.

John wandered round to the foot of the bed. “Alright, then?” He slewed to one side, tilting his head to get a better look at Dean’s face. “All _compos mentis_ again?”

Dean squinted at him. “Cas looks blonde.”

The man looked a little confused. “My name’s John.”

“Who _are_ you?”

“Just someone with similar interests.” He shoved the cigarette back in his teeth, noting how Dean rubbed at his eyes and tried to take in his surroundings.

“And what are you doin’ here?” Dean asked.

“Just in the right place at the right time,” John said. “Sam says you were looking for a book. I need something from that library too. Now we’re on a bit of a time limit, so you’ll have to rest up here while me and Sam go and get—”

“Just - stop,” Dean grunted. He pushed himself to sit up. His hand went round the back of his head and he felt at his scalp cautiously. “Right, back it up, the pair of you. What happened to that bitch and how did we get here?”

Sam stood back. “John here… kinda threatened her. She took off and we drove back here.”

John sucked on the cigarette before knocking ash toward the carpet. “True story - ‘cept he missed out the bit where she sic’d her minions on us and we _still_ got away clean. Now, are we gettin’ this book or what?”

“What’s the hurry?” Dean asked. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed.

“The library disappears at midnight,” John said.

“Are you serious?” Dean asked.

John smiled. “As lung cancer.”

Dean looked him up and down, then turned to Sam. “Do we trust this guy? What does he know about demons?”

“He’s an exorcist,” Sam said awkwardly.

“And a demonologist,” John put in. “So… quite a bit, really.”

“And… who are you again?” Dean asked.

“Like I said, my name’s John. I’m just—”

“No, who the hell _are_ you?” Dean growled, getting to his feet. “Me and Sam were in that library like ten minutes before a _demon_ jumped us. Then you appear and ‘help’ my brother, here? Out of nowhere?”

John pushed the cigarette into his lips and put both hands up in surrender. “I swear - I was there for her. She clocked me though - wasn’t counting on that.”

“Maybe she smelt you coming,” Dean said meaningfully.

John pulled the cigarette from his mouth and, without looking, flicked it from his left hand toward the mirror against the wall. It bounced off and went into a paper cup on the table underneath. Sam and Dean blinked in surprise as there was a hiss of a fire, dying in coffee dregs.

“Listen, I’m just a petty dabbler in the dark arts, squire. And if there’s something in it for me, all the better,” he said, bringing their attention back to him.

“He did just scare a demon into running,” Sam said quietly. “And he did an exorcism on the fly.”

“Yeah? And how do we know _this_ dude ain’t a demon?” Dean pressed. He advanced on John, who simply stood his ground, his palms up in surrender. Dean shoved his face down into John’s.

But the slighter man didn’t so much as flinch. “You’re a very angry young man, do you know that?” he smiled. Dean’s face hardened. John’s smile faded. “Alright, alright. It’s been a long night for everyone. The fact remains we’ve got till midnight to get what we want from that library. After that, it’s bye-bye bookshelves until well after we’re all worm-food.”

Dean eyed him. Then he stood back and threw his hands out in mystification. He turned to Sam. “You believe this guy?”

“Possibly,” he said slowly. “And she did say we had to be in and out before midnight.”

“Who ‘she’?” John asked.

“A friend,” Sam said.

“And how does your friend know about this library? The one library that carries all the books so naughty that it only appears for two weeks every century?”

Sam lifted his chin. “What do you want from this library?”

“The same as you,” John said. He put his hands in his trouser pockets. “Just a book.”

“And why are we all going together again? This ain’t Scooby Doo,” Dean said.

“Oh but you’d make a smashin’ Fred,” John grinned. He turned to the door. “Come on, then. And bring Scoob. He’s tidy in a fight, your brother.” He opened the exit and slipped back out into the night.

Sam and Dean shared a long look. “Seriously?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “He might be useful. We all need to get into that library before it closes for good - and it doesn’t look like we’ll be able to stop him anyway. May as well go in together.”

Dean huffed. Then he rubbed at the back of his head and went for the door. He paused and looked back. “Don’t take your eyes off this guy.”

Sam wiped both hands down his face. Then he followed.

 

ooOoo

 

The occupants of the Impala were silent as she rumbled down the road. The moon cast polite shadows over the single man in the rear seat. As he fiddled with his Zippo lighter and stared out of the window, his breath misted up the glass in waves of impatient, unfed addiction. He brought his attention back to the pane and a half-smile pulled at the side of his mouth. He put an index finger up and pressed it to the obfuscated window. It left a large print in the middle and he smiled proper, flicking a delicate finger up a few times to leave a slight bump on one side, and then two tapering lines going upward. He let his hand drop and admired his handiwork, studying the V sign sitting atop the miniature fist-like shape in the middle.

“So John,” Dean said from the driver’s seat.

John looked up swiftly. “Still think you shouldn’t be driving.”

“How long you been doing this?” Dean asked.

“Oooh, a while.”

“How long is a while?” Dean pressed.

John flicked the lighter open and shut repeatedly as something rolled around the inside of his head. “Funny thing about time,” he mused. “We have this agreement; I ignore it, and it ignores me.”

“That’s great,” Dean said, sarcasm readily apparent.

“What do I call you?” John asked suddenly. “‘Sam’s brother’ is going to get really irritating.”

“Dean.”

“Right you are.”

Dean sniffed to himself. The car was quiet for a long moment. “So you’ve dealt with demons before?”

“Plenty of them,” John said. His face lost its joviality and he looked back out of the window.

Sam turned in the seat. “Hey, uhm… when you were talking to her… you told her you’d summoned her king. Who were you talking about?”

“Her king?” John prompted, surprised. He continued to flick the Zippo open and closed. “He’s gone by a few names in the past. Mostly these days he gets called Crowley. I think he nicked that from a friend of mine, but he’ll never admit to it.”

Sam blinked. “You were going to summon Crowley? _Crowley?_ ”

“You’ve met him, then,” John smiled. “Bit of a smug tosser, but at least he sticks to his word.”

“But _Crowley_ ,” Sam argued. Dean put a hand out and nudged Sam’s arm. Sam looked at him sharply. Then his eyes went back to John’s. “It’s just… we’ve had dealings.”

John nodded slowly. “Riiiiight,” he drawled curiously. He looked down at the lighter as he flicked it open and closed, open and closed.

“Could you be _any more annoying?_ ” Dean snapped.

John paused his thumb. “Sorry. It’s that or smoke something. Gettin’ a bit desperate, here.”

“We’re nearly there,” Sam said. He turned back round as Dean sped up slightly.

Presently they came down a quiet street that turned through a few more small-town corners before a large car park arrived on the left. Dean checked the traffic - of which there was none - and crossed the road and into the lot. He pulled up by the front door to the library and squeaked the door open. Sam got out as John appeared from the back. He already had a cigarette in his hand as he pushed the door shut.

He lit up his Silk Cut and then nodded to Dean. “So which book are you looking for?”

“Why? Will you know where it is?”

John put his free hand in his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Dean, who opened it gingerly. 

“It’s blank,” he said, turning it round for Sam to see under the car park lights.

John tutted. “Whoops.” He took it back and put the cigarette in his mouth. He folded the paper in half again, pressed his fingers and thumbs into it, and muttered something round the Silk Cut. He sniffed and opened it up. He didn’t even check it before he handed it back to Dean.

He stared down at the paper - now replete with black lines and arrows, notes and directions. “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” John shrugged. “It was a Secret.”

“A secret what?” Dean asked.

John rolled his eyes in disappointment and went straight up to the front doors. Finding them still unlocked, he heaved a single door open and slipped inside.

The Winchesters exchanged a glance that was all about wariness and trepidation. Sam took the map from his brother and went for the doors. Dean looked around, realised the road beyond was as empty as the car park, and went inside.

He pulled the door shut behind him quietly and took in the mess in the library. Sam was off to the left, running his hands down the shelves and reading slowly. John was out of sight, somewhere to his right, if the sounds were anything to go by.

Eventually Sam paused and stooped to read something more carefully. “Dean!” he called. He pulled a slim book from the shelf, blowing dust from it before shaking it off.

Dean appeared next to him. “You got it?”

“Yeah. It was right where the map said it would be,” Sam marvelled. “You know, maybe John isn’t as bad as all that.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“You’re just pissed because he might be as good as us,” Sam argued.

“Sam, we don’t know a thing about him.”

“We know he’s something like a hunter. He shouted an exorcism from the wing of the Impala - that worked - and he can hold his magic.”

“Yeah - _magic_. You sure this guy ain’t just a demon-powered witch?”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of magic,” Sam said. Dean turned less angry and more thoughtful. “I’m just saying,” Sam went on, “maybe we should cut him some slack.”

“And _I’m_ just saying - maybe he’s just stringing us along to get what he wants. And can we really trust him _not_ to draw attention to us in this town?”

“He said he was after a book. And he’s been pretty discreet so far.”

There was a bang and a crash, followed by an off-colour curse that made both men go to the end of the bookshelf to peer around the edge. They found John Constantine a few bookshelves across the room, sprawled on his back in a pile of books with a few more open and lying on his lazy tie. He put a hand up. “S’alright,” he said cheerfully. “Turns out that book wasn’t the top of the pile after all.” A book slipped from the top half empty shelf behind him and bounced off his head. “Bastard,” he coughed, fighting to get up.

Dean looked at Sam - just looked. Sam, for his part, pushed the book at Dean. He took it and secreted it inside his jacket pocket as Sam went past him and put a palm out. John grabbed it and between them they hauled him back to his feet.

“Much obliged,” John said, twisting his raincoat straight and running a hand through his hair. He turned and picked a book out of the pile, checking what was written on the spine before brandishing it at Sam. “Got mine. You?”

“Ah - yeah,” Sam said. “So let’s get out of here before a demon shows up.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” John smiled, clapping a hand to his arm before walking past him and disappearing out through the front doors.

Sam looked over at Dean and gestured with his head. Dean looked around the library before walking out. He pulled both doors shut firmly and went to the Impala. John was lighting up a fresh Silk Cut even as Sam stopped by the passenger door.

“You got what you wanted, and we got what we wanted. No demons about, so… thanks,” Dean said. “Have a nice life.”

John sniffed, pulling the cigarette from his lips to appraise the red end. “You know there’s a bar just down the block, right? Not a bad place, apparently. Beer, burgers, birds.”

Dean looked over the roof to his brother. 

Sam leant an arm on the car. “I’ll need some time to study this book, make sure it does what we want it to.”

Dean looked back at John, who flashed him a wide grin. “I’m buyin’. I’ll just need a moment and a phone,” John said.

“Selling your book?” Dean asked.

“What, this?” John asked, waving a red book up briefly. “Not on your life.”

Dean looked at Sam. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, we’re not. Sam, you can study that thing on the eight hour drive back to Kansas.” He looked at John. “We’re leaving, and you’re going wherever it is you’re going.”

“Sure, mate?” John said slyly.

“Sure.”

“Ok then,” John shrugged. “I’m not going to argue with you. But I’m just sayin’ - you can’t do much this late at night. You should read it in the morning, Sam, come at it fresh,” he said innocently.

“Uhm… maybe,” Sam havered, a slight look of confusion on his face.

John smiled, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. “Yeah, I mean… Trying to work on it after a day like this? I’d need a moment to collect myself, get squared away, you know, before I started trying to translate some ancient book. It’s not easy getting the translations right. And they do say the devil’s in the details.”

Sam frowned. “You have a point.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Dean said, surprised. “Time limit, Sam, remember?”

“Whatever you’ve got that’s so important in Kansas isn’t going anywhere,” John said amiably. “Right? I mean, I’m guessing you _drove_ here. If it’d been that important you could have flown.”

“Yeah,” Sam said faintly.

Dean looked at Sam, then back at John. “Stop talking,” he said, but he sounded undecided.

“Ok,” John shrugged. “But, you know, that bar’s not that far away, and I’m buying. Sam needs time to decipher that book, after all. Why not sit and have a beer until he’s got a handle on it, at least? How do you even know it’s all in there, whatever you need?”

Dean frowned. “But… there are women. We need to find them.”

“Oh mate. Do you _really think_ there are no women at the pub?” John grinned.

Dean appeared torn between opening the car door and John’s confident smile. “Well… Just until Sam’s had a chance to read the damn thing. I suppose one beer wouldn’t hurt.” He opened his driver’s door and got in.

John heard the car start up as he checked his watch. He made the most of one final drag on his cigarette and then dropped the butt, squishing it dead with his shoe. Opening up the rear door and climbing in, he heard the brothers discussing time limits.

“Just a few hours, so I can read it over,” Sam was saying quietly.

Dean grunted in agreement. “But we take off early tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Sam said.

John waited until they were busy looking out of the front window. 

 _Then_ he grinned.

 

 


	4. Four

 

 

The bar door swung open and Dean smiled for the first time all weekend; the place was dimly lit from above but neons selling everything from Budweiser to Bushmills cast garish luminescence over the lively patrons. Round wooden tables housed two or four people each, pint glasses and shot glasses adorned every flat surface, and the juke box in the corner was vibrating with happiness at the Rush belting out for the content drinkers.

Dean went straight for the counter. Sam followed, and then John appeared. They stopped at the bar in a line, making the black-haired woman behind the wooden divide smile broadly.

"Ok," she beamed. "Which one of you first?"

John leant his elbows on the counter top. "Definitely him at the end," he winked. "It's his round, love, and then when the black goes down, it's all me."

She shook her head in a refusal to even begin to figure out his meaning. "If you say so," she smiled, then turned to Dean. "What'll it be, handsome?"

Dean looked directly at John with angry intent, pulling his wallet from his inside pocket. "Three beers, please."

"You got it." She turned away from the counter.

John looked across the bar. "Right. Phone call. You two stay put." He rubbed his hands together and took off across the room.

Sam let his mouth hang open in disbelief until he turned and noticed Dean paying for the three bottles on the counter. The barmaid took his money and ran it through the till, before placing the change in his hand along with a card. Dean's face took on a much more pleasant expression and he leant on the counter to talk.

Sam shook his head and picked up two of the beer bottles. He wandered deeper into the room, looking for space at a table. He caught sight of John with a large black phone receiver to his face, his other hand resting on the wooden surround that housed the rest of the phone. He waved a bottle up to get his attention. John nodded and waved him to sit. Sam pulled out a wooden chair at a free table and sat himself down.

John turned his back to the room at large before he hung up the phone receiver. His hand ran down the cord to the end that was still hanging free, unconnected and unloved. He cleared his throat and stuffed it in the gap between the body of the phone and the wall casually to make it look for all the world like it still worked. HIs hand swept the mixture of ash and carefully prepared condiments to the floor as he turned. Checking the people around him to make sure no-one had seen his handiwork, he weaved through the tables to sit opposite Sam. "Cheers mate," he said, picking up the bottle and taking a good swig.

Sam gestured to the bar behind them with his head. "Dean paid for this round, remember?"

"Nah - for setting fire to that stick up your brother's arse," he said. "I needed a drink. Didn't think he'd go for it till you stepped in."

"I didn't—"

"It was The Look. All siblings have it," John said wisely, then let his eyes wander over the bar room.

"So how many siblings have you got?" Sam smiled.

John smiled ruefully. "That is a long complicated story that no-one wants to hear."

"Ouch."

"Pretty much." John took another mouthful of beer. "Just you two is it, then? No other family?"

"Who's grilling who, here?" Sam smiled.

John put a palm up in surrender. "Just askin'."

"Well while we're 'just asking' - what book did  _you_  get?"

John smiled. "The Voynich manuscript."

"You're kidding," Sam grinned, but John was absolutely certain he was overawed.

"Well it's one bloke's translation, anyway. Who's to say it's the real one?" He looked up and then did a double-take. "Hey, keep my seat. I've found 'im."

"'Him' who?" Sam asked.

"The bloke who's going to pay for the three of us to get hammered tonight." He pulled off his trenchcoat and laid it over the backrest of the chair. He rolled up his sleeves and headed toward the back of the room - and the pool tables.

Sam smiled and sipped his beer before the sound of boots stopped to his right. Dean pulled out a chair and poured himself into it. "Where's English?"

Sam chucked a thumb over his shoulder. "Playing pool. You want a turn?"

"Think I'll stick to beer." He adjusted his jacket and then put a hand inside to bring out a thin blue book. "So now he's safely out of our hair… What does this do again?"

Sam took it from him. "This," he said with close to childlike excitement, "is the Book of Soyga. In here are the original instructions on how to get a demon out of a live body -  _any_  demon,  _any_  paygrade - and kill off the demon."

"Even someone like Crowley?" Dean gasped.

"This thing could probably even kill Lucifer if it came to it," Sam beamed.

Dean slapped the table in approval. "Sam, I take back all the bitchin' I did on the drive down here. This is awesome," he smiled. Sam said nothing, but he picked up his beer and sipped with smug amusement. Dean drank for a long moment. "That demon in the basement is in for such an ass-kicking when we get back."

"Did you hear that demon in the library? She wanted to know where Malakatch was."

"Mala-what?"

"Malakatch. How much do you want to bet that he's our demon?" Sam grinned.

"Well we got him and we got the book," Dean sniffed, then picked up his beer and sipped it. He looked over at the pool tables. "He's just gonna hustle beer money out of those guys, is he?"

"Looks like," Sam said. "What do you care? It keeps us in beer and him over at the tables so he's not talking to you." He paused. "You only need to put up with him for another few hours - we're leaving early in the morning, remember."

"Yeah… I know." Dean let his head tilt and things go through his head. "You know what? You're right, Sammy. Let it go, and all that jazz. We got the book, he's buying us beer… things could be worse."

"Hey, uh… are you still worried about those two missing women?" Sam asked.

Dean frowned. "You know, it's weird… But not so much. Kind of like… it'll be sorted tomorrow. Like… it's urgent, but not till tomorrow."

"Yeah, me too," Sam said, puzzled. "I can't explain why."

"Me either."

Sam thought hard for a minute. "Huh," he managed.

"Huh," Dean agreed. He sipped his drink.

 

ooOoo

 

"But that wasn't the worst of it!" John laughed, banging his shot glass down on the table. "Her brother comes home right when we was a bit busy, and just rips the bloody door open - he had a sodding great  _baseball bat_  in his hand. I nearly shat myself!"

"But you got out, right?" Dean chuckled.

"The window!" John protested. "I mean, bugger me - do you  _know_  how cold it gets in London in bloody January?"

Dean laughed. "Bet that shrank the mood real quick."

"My balls were a couple of rocks in the pit of my stomach, mate, all the way to the nearest bus shelter tryin' to get my clothes back on," John chuckled. "I swear I had to check they dropped back out again the moment I warmed up."

Dean moved two shot glasses in front of John and Sam with a flourish. "Right. Last one to finish does the next one."

Sam picked up his glass. "One, two, three, go!"

They drank. The glasses clinked back to the wood. Dean pointed at John. "Ha! Your turn again, John Lennon!"

"Don't go mistakin' me for that bearded muppet," he grinned, then reached for the packet of Silk Cut on the table. He lit up a fresh cigarette and rubbed an eye. "Right, right, let me think… Worst fright of my life after Penny's rugby prop brother…" He sniffed. "Ok. Meeting demon-me and thinking it really wasn't as bad as all that."

Sam and Dean's faces froze. Slowly they slipped into uncertain worry.

"What?" Dean asked, his face now losing all of its colour, too.

John took a drag on his cigarette. "I'm not even joking. There was this… thing. And I had reason to… well… There was a demonic version of me. Not a  _demon_ ,  _per se_ , but… evil me. He was a twat an' all, but… he was still me, you know? Still, we parted ways and… it was all sorted. So I thought. But these things… sometimes they come back and bite you in the arse."

Dean stared.

His frown stared.

His  _hair_  stared.

Hard.

Sam knocked his elbow deliberately, then got up. "I'll get another round," he said. He swiped up the last of the crumpled dollars by John's hand on the table and wandered off toward the bar.

Dean's eyes went anywhere but John.

John considered his sudden cagey mood as he enjoyed his Silk Cut in silence. Eventually he cleared his throat and pinned Dean with a look. "So, tell me seriously," he said quietly. "And be honest."

"What?" Dean dared.

"You got that barmaid's number or what?"

Dean smiled, then realised it was in relief. "Yeah."

"Nice one. Fancy sharing?"

Dean chuckled. "You don't strike me as the type to do sloppy seconds."

"Who said anything about seconds?" he asked, surprised. He puffed on his cigarette. "Tag-team, change ends at half time… Either works for me. Or, you know, whatever."

Dean smiled somewhat apologetically. "I have this thing about the other two in the threesome having lady parts. Sorry."

"Don't  _ever_  apologise for something you like," John said sternly, pointing at him with his cigarette hand. "Don't get caught up in that bollocks. You do what you want, my son, and screw everyone else. It's the only way to live."

"You know something?" Dean grinned. "I think I like you, John."

"Good - cos you owe me a round," he smiled. "I've run out of pool winnings."

"Well at some point we got to get back to the motel and I ain't driving my baby back after all these shots. Last thing I want is to have to rebuild her bodywork  _again_."

"I can get us a cab anywhere."

"Out here?" Dean scoffed. "Now that's a skill."

"Nah - s'magic, innit?" John grinned.

Dean laughed as Sam came back to the table with six new shots and three pints of beer.

"Here we go," he said happily. "So what's the next topic?"

"Uhm… first time you drew a sigil in blood and then realised you had nowhere to wipe your hands," John said. They picked up shots and downed them.

Sam groaned in defeat as the other two pointed at him, crowing eagerly. "Ok, alright," he said, palms up. As he recounted his story, the other two men laughing at his turns of phrase - and his poor luck - the time crept by. The drinks kept coming, until eventually the other patrons began to slip out of the bar and into the night.

Sam got up - a little unsteady on his feet - and pushed his chair in under the table. "Right, so… door's that way, right?"

"Right. You go on. I've got to make a pit stop first," John said as he turned for the sign that promised washrooms.

Sam and Dean went for the front door, opening it up and stepping out to take in great, welcome lungfuls of cool night air.

"Hey man," Sam slurred. "You keep John's card?"

"Yeah. Why?" Dean managed past the comfortable alcoholic haze.

"Cos maybe if we need a third on a case, we could ask him. I mean, he knows about all this crap."

"Yeah. I had him all wrong," Dean said, before he pushed a closed fist into his chest and belched beer mist. Sam patted him on the back - something that made them both laugh.

The door opened behind them and John squeezed between them, leaning up to hang his arms over their taller shoulders. "Right then lads - the next bar, yeah?"

"No," the Winchesters chorused.

"Lightweights," John grumbled. "Alright then. Cab?"

"Yes," they said.

He began to chuckle. "S'funny when you do that." His arms slipped from their shoulders and he reached inside his pocket. "Now don't laugh," he warned, attempting to sound firm. Sam and Dean turned and watched him play with two small rubbery loops in his fingers. He twisted and shaped, until eventually he had a small ball in one hand. He covered it with the other and then rubbed it slowly between his palms. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ —. No wait. I think I just tried to exorcise demons from a rubber band. Shouldn't have had that ninth shot," he grinned.

"Try again," Sam laughed.

"Ok, here we go…  _Rah ah gah ee oh es, vee nu nohno kee ah seh peh teh poh ah ma lah deh zod_."

"You speak Enochian?" Sam marvelled.

John shuffled his feet. "That's all I know to be honest, squire. It summons pretty much whatever I'm thinking of."

Dean pointed at him. "I get one whiff of a Staypuft Marshmallow man and I'm singing Beatles tunes all the way back to the motel."

John's hand slapped into his shirtfront as he wheezed and gasped in fake pain. "Fate worse than death, mate!"

Dean chuckled, shaking his head.

John thrust his hands in his pockets and looked around the car park that was empty save the Impala, still waiting patiently in the space near the bar door. "Just give it a minute."

"Sure?" Dean asked. "We ain't going to be standing here all night, are we? Get the cab to hurry."

"Shut it," John grinned.

"Did he just tell me to shut up?" Dean marvelled. Sam grinned.

"You don't want to offend the Great God Joe Baxi," John went on. "He may not send one of his minions."

"Joe who?"

They waited.

Dean folded his arms.

They waited.

Sam yawned and stretched.

They waited.

"Ok," Sam said, checking his watch. "This is not working."

Dean huffed. "We go in that bar and ask the lady for a cab company."

John seemed to deflate over the course of a few seconds. Abruptly he was six inches smaller. "Fair enough," he sighed.

The three of them turned to the door.

And jumped back in shock as a bright yellow taxi cab blocked their path. The three of them collided and ended up in a heap of drunken arms and legs. They fought their way up out of the pile and scrabbled to look presentable.

Sam pushed John forward and he knocked on the passenger window. It went down silently. "Alright?" John asked hopefully.

The brightly flickering celestial blue vapour currently sitting behind the wheel turned its head and smiled at him. "Hey bro. Where can I take you?"

John cleared his throat professionally. "Uh - just the Dew Drop Motel. Do you know it, mate?"

"I know everywhere," the ghost replied. "Get in. Have you there in a tick, Mr Constantine."

"You know me?" John blinked in surprise.

"I know  _of_  you."

John appeared to mull this over. "You're not a friend of Map's, are you?"

"Maybe, Mr Constantine, maybe," it said. Its hand swirled up in blue gracefulness. "Get in. And bring your fine car with you."

John gestured to the back door. The boys climbed in but John walked back to the Impala. He pulled something from his pocket.

Dean wound down the window and looked across the car park. "Hey - don't you scratch her."

"Wouldn't dream of it," John said.

Sam and Dean watched as he muttered something to himself, rubbing something from the palm of his hand on each of the tyres. Then he went back to the driver's window and bent over as if looking in the side mirror.

"What's he doin'?" Sam asked, trying to see past his brother.

"Looks like a towing spell," the driver offered.

Sam and Dean looked at him. Then each other. Then back out of the window.

John stood back. "Do us a favour, missus," he said to the Impala. "Follow that cab." He turned and went to the yellow car in question and opened the front passenger door. He settled himself in the wide seat. "Been a cabbie long?" he asked innocently.

The blue mist of the driver appeared to smile. "A few millennia. Right then - off we go."

The car pulled around in utter silence, but Dean turned around to watch his car steer herself out of the parking lot and follow them to the main road. The three passengers noticed the road speed up to a blur. Barely three seconds later they were sitting outside the motel.

"Holy crap," Dean managed under his breath. He spun to check the Impala was still with them. She coasted around their cab in a graceful arc to come to a stop by the windows of the motel. "I have got to find out how he did that."

The three of them piled out and then John stopped and turned back to look through the open window, across the interior of the car, to the driver. "Uhm, what do we owe you, mate?"

"One of those there cigarettes," the blue vapour said happily. John dutifully handed it over. The ghostly smoke had grabbed it in an approximation of lips, making the cigarette appear to float inside the blue vapour. John leant in through the window to light it. He flicked the Zippo lighter and the end of the Silk Cut burnt red. "Oh," the driver added, "and just make sure you're all  _good boys_. I'd hate to have to come back here."

The three of them stepped back cautiously. "Right you are," John said, rather gingerly.

The cabbie wafted its hand up in goodbye and then the taxi turned to head on out of the motel parking lot. It turned onto the main road in complete silence before it faded away before their eyes.

"Whoa," Sam breathed.

"See? Told you I could get you a cab anywhere," John blustered. He marched off toward the motel. "Room forty-two, wasn't it Sam?" he called over his shoulder.

Dean looked at his watch and found it to be nearly four in the morning. He shrugged in happy freedom and hurried after his brother. John had mysteriously opened the door before they caught him up, and the next thing they knew, two Winchesters were face-down on their respective beds, and John was face-down on the floor with only a pillow and a raincoat for comfort.

 

ooOoo

 

Dean mumbled something and shifted. Something tickled his face and he opened an eye. His hand came up and swiped at the sensation, and he had the wherewithal to realise a very small, very insignificant spider had been attempting to make it across his forehead.

He sat up and rubbed at his face, noting nothing much had changed from the night before. A bleary blink at the curtains revealed the comforting shadow of the Impala. He swung his boots over the edge of the bed and groaned, pausing to rub his head again. He scrubbed his fingers against his scalp and yawned.

"Ok John, up and at 'em," he called. He stood and went to the small coffee machine on the table under the mirror, a few feet from the end of the bed. He stopped as he realised the carpet was empty. "Huh," he managed.

There was a snort and snuffle from the other bed and Sam blinked an eye open. "Whut?" he managed.

Dean picked up two coffee cups and went into the bathroom, filling them both. He went back to the coffee machine and filled the reservoir with one cup's worth, slotting the mug underneath and then looking for coffee filters. He gave up and went into the bathroom.

Sam heard the toilet flush and sink taps go, and levered himself up and over onto his back. He groaned and rubbed his eyes.

Dean emerged from the bathroom. He went through a box on the counter before he found a coffee filter and put it all together in the machine. He pressed the red button and then leant back on the table to yawn. "You alive over there?"

Sam ran his hands through his hair. "Kinda." He yawned. "How's John feeling?"

"John's split."

"What?" He sat up. "Seriously?"

"Looks that way," Dean said. "Unless he's gone out for coffee and doughnuts, or whatever it is English people get for breakfast."

"Oh," Sam said, blinking in surprise. "Kind of a shame. Woulda been nice to say goodbye."

"Yeah well," Dean sighed. He heard the coffee start to drip through the filter behind him. "You want the first cup?"

"Nah. I'll shower first. You get that one." He pushed himself off the bed and into the bathroom.

The coffee made, Dean binned the hot filter and then refilled the reservoir to put the empty cup underneath. He pressed the red button and then yawned, peeling off his jacket before he sat on the bed and unlaced his boots. He heard the shower go and lay back on the bed.

What felt like a split-second later, Sam was shaking him awake. "Hey. Your coffee's done and the shower's free," he said with a smile.

Dean groaned as he pulled himself up. He got to his feet to see his jacket slip off the end of the bed. He muttered something and whisked it up. Something fell out of it and he cursed as it hit his foot. He crouched and picked it up. "Hey - what's this?"

Sam, still in just a towel from the waist down, turned to see what he was doing. "Looks like a book. What is it?"

"Uh… Voysnit—. Voynich. Voynich manuscript," Dean read.

" _What?_ " Sam gasped. Dean looked up as Sam came round the bed and snatched it off him. Sam's eyes went over the cover of the red book very carefully. He opened it and paged through it. "Oh no," he said as he looked at Dean.

"What?" he demanded. Sam went around him and picked up his jacket, shaking it out. Dean stood up a little wearily. " _What_ , Sammy?"

Sam glared at him. "John."

"What about him?"

"He's not here," Sam snapped.

"Hey, I know. I told  _you_  that, remember?" Dean paused. "What about it?"

"Neither's  _our_  book. John's  _gone_ , and so's our  _book_."

"Son of a bitch!"

 


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this is a Not Safe for Work chapter. Just sayin’.

FIVE

 

 

 

John reached forward and waved a fifty dollar bill at the very human cab driver. 

The older man turned in the driver’s seat and looked at it with suspicion. “Fare says twenty. I can’t break that.”

“No - just take fifty. If anyone asks, you were never here, and you never saw me,” John said. The driver hesitated. John waved the note again. “Look, this ain’t illegal, mate. This is a tip. Your missus probably needs new shoes for that do on Saturday, eh?”

The driver squirmed round in his seat to glare at his fare. “How do you know my wife?”

“Lucky guess. Take the tip. It’s a gratuity. I thought that’s how America’s working class _really_ survived.”

The man put a hand up and opened the glass barrier. He took the money and stuffed it in the plastic beaker in the cup holder by his hand. “Thanks.”

“Just forget you saw me.”

“You going to forget about my wife?”

“What wife?” John grinned. He pushed the door open and got out, stretching before he shut the door and pulled his packet of Silk Cut from his pocket. The taxi whisked away from behind him but it didn’t warrant his interest. Instead he went up the dirt driveway in front of him and opened the packet to find it empty. He muttered something unkind and stopped to look up.

The street was empty. Not even a tumbleweed bothered to bring a little bit of movement to the deserted road. Empty, dilapidated houses edged both sides, abandoned cars were dotted about, here and there a crow strutted up and down as if trying to warn John against doing anything stupid whilst on its turf.

 The driveway he was currently standing in was the sudden victim of a breeze, the resulting dusty swirl round his boots making him look up at the house before him. A two storey lump of rotten wood and unsafe structure notices, it stared back at him in some kind of dare to enter its rotting front door.

He held onto his cigarette packet and hovered his left palm over the top. He closed his eyes as he recited something under his breath. He popped an eye open. He cursed and tried again. 

This time a tiny blue flash warmed his palm and he opened his eyes to find the packet refilled. He looked up at the house. “Thanks for the lend. Not like you’d need any spare energy lying around here, is it?”

The front door creaked open on unsteady hinges. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it quickly, taking one last look around before walking up the rest of the driveway.

 

ooOoo

 

Sam shoved his duffle in the boot of the Impala with a huff. “What a dick.”

Dean was already going to the driver’s door. “I can’t believe we hung out at a friggin’ bar all night - what were we thinking?” he demanded.

“It’s weird - now it’s like I can’t understand why we didn’t think leaving the moment we had the book was a good idea. It’s almost like—“

“What a _dick_ ,” Dean cried angrily.

Sam looked at him. “What?”

“Well think, Sam! What’s the only thing that could have influenced us last night?”

Sam smacked a hand into his forehead and rubbed it down his face wearily. “You’re saying John planned this?”

“He put some kind of whammy on us! He must have done! Otherwise we woulda left the library and not stopped till we were back at the bunker!” Dean ran his hands through his hair. “That back-stabbing—!”

“I don’t know who I’m more angry at,” Sam snapped. “Him for doing it to us, or me for letting him.”

“We didn’t know he was some hypnotist,” Dean said. “And who does that, anyway?” 

Sam closed the boot and got in the passenger door. “He was good. Like _really_ good. I actually believed he might be an ok guy.”

“Well it’s too late now,” Dean growled. He started the engine.

“I don’t even know how we trace him,” Sam huffed. “That was low. I mean, that was seriously low. How does he sleep at night?”

“People like that, who’ve gone as low as they can go? Just when you think you can trust them, that they’ve _been_ the lowest they can go - they find a basement door.”

Sam looked at his brother for a long moment. “Are you talking about John or—. Or other people who’ve been down as low as they can go?”

Dean didn’t answer. He pushed a cassette tape into the car stereo and sniffed to himself, checking the car park was empty before reversing the classic out and round. 

“Just wish we could find him,” Sam said.

“Believe me, I really want that book too,” Dean snapped. “But he doesn’t have a phone, no car - even his shoes didn’t leave footprints. There’s nothing we can do, Sam. We get back to the bunker and do what we can to that demon. And he _will_ tell us where these women are. If we’re too late… then he’s on our hit list for attention at another time.” He checked the traffic and pulled out onto the quiet street.

The midday sun glinted off her bodywork as the Impala sped off down the road. Sam frowned at the road ahead, but Dean was already attempting to block out the morning’s upsetting developments with nothing more than sheer bloody-mindedness and the music from the stereo.

 

ooOoo

 

John stepped in through the door. A large, open room with only a large staircase greeted him with a notable lack of enthusiasm. He noticed that a set of wooden cabinets, an old telephone atop, a hat rack, the floorboards - everything - was covered in several layers of dust, so much so that in places it had melted into a kind of plastic spongey mess that curled up at the edges.

He checked the floor was in one piece before he walked toward the grand staircase in the middle of the room. He pushed the cigarette in his mouth and lifted his left hand. He began to scrawl letters on the palm with the fingers of his right, mumbling something around the cigarette.

A squeak - a noise. He stopped and listened.

Nothing.

He gave his hand his full attention, continuing with the words he needed and tracing letters on his left hand.

“ _Johnny come lately_ ,” sang a voice from above.

He made his hand drop to conceal it behind him. He heard shoes on old wood. They came from the left, somewhere above him. He looked up to see a woman making her way down the staircase and round. She smiled at him, her dark face and long, black hair standing out even in the gloom of the house.

“ _The new kid in town. Everybody loves you, so don’t let them down_ ,” she sang softly. She came to the bottom and stopped a few feet from him. Her dark blue blouse and long matching skirt looked very out of place in such a run-down hovel. “I was wondering if you’d show up, or if I’d have to come and find you,” she oiled. 

“I told you I’d be here. Anyway, I didn’t fancy you doin’ a fly-by and roasting me from above, pet,” he smiled.

Her face dropped. “I am _nobody’s pet_ ,” she seethed.

He put both hands up in surrender. “Wrong choice of words, yeah? You prefer ‘sweetheart’?”

She relaxed, before she squared her shoulders and laced her hands behind her back. “Did you bring it?”

“Of course, love. Question is, would you just take it and go?”

She grinned, her brilliant white teeth almost flashing. “Oh Johnny boy. Are you trying to haggle? Now? A little late, don’t you think?”

“I’m just asking,” he smiled. “…So would you?”

She threw her head back and laughed, and John felt something in him deflate in I-told-you-so resignation. He fixed his smile as she managed to control herself. She reached out and put a hand to his tie, sliding it down slowly. “No, John, I will not. A soul _and_ the promise of your flesh between my teeth, given up for a simple book? Absolutely not.”

John took the cigarette from his mouth and let out a long stream of smoke through his nose. “You sure about that?”

“Poor darling,” she cooed, running her dark hand down his face. “Still posturing, still bluffing? That’s what got us both here in the first place, as I recall.” She let her hand drop. “Hand it over.”

“That’s it? I give it to you, you eat me and a fresh soul, and then you go back to your natural form… Have you really thought this through?” he asked earnestly. “I mean, once you’re a dragon again, you can’t eat chips and gravy. Or drink whisky. Or have down-and-dirty sex with a human.”

“Stalling, John?” she grinned. “I know your magic. You talk and talk until the other person believes, until they change, until they do your bidding. You must know that won’t work on me.”

“I’m just sayin’—” he began innocently.

She laughed. “Oh dear. You _are_ persistent.” She smoothed the back of her hand down his cheek. “That’s what drew me to you in the first place. Well, you and your… _talents_.”

“Happy to entertain you. I’m here all week. —Oh wait, I’m _not_ ,” he added.

She grinned. “My poor laughing magician.”

“You’re going to miss me when I’m gone,” he said, a crafty smile lighting up his eyes. She didn’t answer, her gaze busy interrogating his. He let his head tilt. “Are you really ready to get your old life back? It’s going to be a bastard of a transition, love.”

“Oh, I think so,” she said, but her smile was fading. “Now… give me the book.”

“There’s nothing you want first?” he asked quietly.

Her eyes ran up and down him in their own time, before she lifted her chin. “No.”

“Sure?” he pressed, his eyes conspiratorial to the extreme. “Come off it. You’ve been lookin’, you know you have.”

She began to grin. “This is hardly the time.”

“If I’m on your chopping block anyway, what’s the harm in taking time out for yourself? It’s not like I can just leave.” He paused, sucking on the cigarette and then taking it from his mouth. “After all, this is it. The end of that human suit. You’ll never get it back, never walk down a street again, never move completely unknown amongst us humans. No more sleeping on soft sheets, no more bodies to keep you warm at night. No more of that little tickle you get when someone stands too close to you, and you can’t decide what to do about it.”

She smiled, running an index finger across her lower lip.

He stepped closer to her, looking slightly down at her, his nose barely an inch from hers. “How about it, love? One last hurrah, one last shag before you slough off this human skin and fly free? Goin’ to be a hell of a dry spell once you’re proper dragon again.”

“Are you so desperate?” she teased, but she bit at her lip.

“I’m a biscuit away from being devoured, I’ve got no escape. —And if I’m bein’ honest, I’ve always had a weakness for strong birds,” he winked. He flicked the cigarette butt from his fingers.

She sighed. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you, John?” She turned her chin up to his. “You talked, and I listened. And now here you are, the last turkey in the shop.”

“You’ll hurt me feelings, sweetheart. I may be scrawny but I’m good at what I do.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she whispered. Her hands yanked his raincoat down his arms. Her palms went to his face and pulled it down closer. She kissed him.

He was nearly knocked back off his feet but he managed to keep his balance. She pressed, he counter-balanced. She yanked off his tie and threw it from her. Her nails ranged harmlessly down the front of his shirt, then went back up and flicked open every button to grant her access to his skin.

 

ooOoo

 

The Impala rumbled along the road, the interior quiet save Bon Scott shouting from the stereo, until Sam lifted his phone and waved it around. “Typical. Another blackspot,” he huffed.

“What blackspot?” Dean asked, his attention on the road.

“I was just checking mail and the signal went out. No cellular, nothing,” Sam grumped.

“What do you expect out here in Bumblefrick Nowhereville?”

“S’pose.” He let the phone down again. Suddenly it beeped. Sam frowned. “I’ve got a message.”

“There you are - signal’s all back, balance is restored to the Force.”

Sam’s frowned deepened. “I still don’t have a signal.”

“So what is it, the phone telling you that you don’t have a signal? I hate it when it does that.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “It’s from John.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Pull over.”

Dean checked his mirrors before pulling into the dirt by the side of the road. “First of all, how in the hell does someone without a phone send a—“

“Save a soul - not mine,” Sam read out. “1194 Birchwood Avenue right sodding now. Bring a…” He paused. “That’s it.”

Dean’s face stretched wide in surprise. “He’s asking us for _help?_ ”

“Wait.” Sam pressed at the phone with his thumb, reading something else. “It’s like twelve miles away. I’ve got it on Maps. We going?”

“You bet your ass we’re going. He’s got some explaining to do.”

Sam held on as Dean spun the Impala out of the dirt. She leapt onto the tarmac and hared off as if her tailpipe were on fire. “And saving this soul?”

“ _After_ we save whoever it is, then we ask him a few questions. Saving people first, hunting down our goddamn book after,” Dean grunted.

“Abso-friggin’-lutely.”

 

ooOoo

 

John grasped her arms and pulled her against him, but she yanked his shirt off his arms to ditch it on the rotting floor. She ran her hands down his front. They encountered his belt and she pulled the end out harshly, wrenching the bar from the eyelet and unthreading the whole thing to leave it on the floor. He grabbed her under the arms and lifted her back, onto a cabinet that creaked with the threat of collapse. 

She chuckled and ruffled a hand through his hair even as his mouth crashed into hers. She hurried the zip down on his trousers and pushed them down over his hips. Her boots went up and pushed the trousers all the way down to land round his ankles. Her hand went round his back. He hitched up her skirt, slid his hands up her legs. She clawed at his shoulder blade as her other nails went to his chest to relish the feel of his heart banging so fast against her human fingers. She lifted her hand and instead her mouth touched at his chest. She bit into his skin, hearing him wheeze something over her head. She pulled her head back and grinned, but he kissed her. Her hand pressed against the trickle of blood she had created.

She pulled on his back, feeling her touch squish into the blood trails she had caused. His mouth on hers, his hands pulling her hips closer to the edge of the cabinet, she went to lift her other hand from the blood on his chest. It didn’t move. She tugged but it was stuck fast. She pulled at her other hand on his back, but it was just as immoveable. She pulled at her hand over his heart that sped up with adrenaline - or perhaps something else.

She ripped her mouth free. “What - have you done?” she panted.

He grinned - and she had never seen such a wicked display of sly intent. “Nothing yet, _pet_.”

She growled and struggled. He put both hands to her head and she gasped in pain. “No! What are you doing! No!”

“Atrio commands you home! Affalon summons you! The gwraig pull you from this place!” he shouted.

“No! You double-crossing bastard!” she screamed.

“Desperate human, love,” he countered. “Atrio gorchmynion eich bod yn mynd adref! Affalon gwŷs i chi! Gwraig tynnu chi i ffwrdd o fan hyn!” he roared.

She screamed. A bright pink light shot out of her chest to bathe the entire room. John had to close his eyes but held on desperately to her head. She fought and wrenched.

Her hands came free of his skin. They fell, limp, to the cabinet as the scream echoed round the house.

He opened an eye. The place was devoid of light, the woman under him similarly vacant. He let go of her head quickly and stepped back - and promptly fell on his backside in the dust, his ankles still welded together by virtue of his trousers.

He got up and dusted off the seat of his cotton boxers. A bang and a crash behind him made him twist to see the front door.

Sam and Dean had halted just inside, flashlights and knives at the ready.

John gave a weak smile. “This ain’t what it looks like, I promise.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean growled. “Then where’s the soul we gotta save? That her?” he accused.

John bent and grabbed up his trousers, doing them up as his eyes searched for his belt. “No. Five-year-old girl, somewhere in this house. Find her.”

“What?” Sam gasped. “What the hell—“

“Find her! She’s five, Sam! And this dragon just screamed like she was bein’ murdered,” John countered angrily. “She’s been kidnapped - she’s probably scared shitless. Now _go find her!_ ”

Dean went up the staircase as fast as his legs would carry him. Sam began to open the doors surrounding the room, looking in. He ran out of doors to try and turned to find John buttoning up his shirt, his back to him. He coughed politely.

“What now?” John asked wearily, turning to look at him.

Sam pointed half-heartedly at the shirt over his back. “You - ah - your back. It’s bleeding.”

“Occupational hazard,” John said with a veritable shedload of false cheer. “I’ve had worse.” He picked up his trenchcoat and pulled it on, running his hands through his hair. He went to the staircase and heaved himself up it.

Sam followed. They came to a long corridor, half the doors still open. Dean was just shouldering another open as they caught him up.

“Nothing so far, man,” he said, bursting another door open and looking in to find the room just as empty and run-down as the rest of them.

“Bollocks,” John cursed. “Lily! Lilyyyy!” he shouted.

Sam went off in the other direction. “Lily?” he called. “Lily, we’re friends!”

They searched the entire floor. Dean came back to the top of the staircase. John was leaning on the balustrade, a cigarette in his mouth, his eyes firmly closed. Dean cleared his throat. “She’s not here. Now where’s our book?”

“You came for the book? Not to save anyone?” John frowned, his eyes still shut. 

“You listen to me,” Dean growled, grabbing his arm and turning him to look at him. John met his eyes with just as much harsh intent, but nothing was capable of daunting Dean. “Explain why you made me and Sam believe we had time to waste. We _need_ that book to save people - and we should have done it last friggin’ night!” he hissed.

John ripped the cigarette from his mouth. “Oh leave it out,” he snapped irritably. “You were never going to let me just have it, even if I was bringing it back. And I needed it to save Lily. Don’t act like you’re the only person who’s in this to save people who can’t save themselves.” 

“Where is it?” Dean demanded.

“Is it really that important _right now?_ ”

“You hand it over and we can _all_ get on with whatever it is you’re doing out here,” Dean said firmly.

John felt inside his coat. He produced the book and slapped it into Dean’s chest. “There. Happy? _Now_ can we find the missing girl?”

Dean pushed it into his jacket. His hand encountered the other book. “Don’t you want yours back?”

“I never wanted that book, Dean. I wanted _yours_. Keep the other one - they’re as useless as each other.”

“What?” Dean said. “What do you mean, useless?”

John turned away to survey the room beneath them. “I don’t get it. She can’t have eaten her - she can’t have. She was empty when she went home.”

“Start again - what’s going on?”

John walked off down the staircase. Dean followed but stopped as John exited the front door into the weak afternoon sun. He picked up a handful of dirt and came back inside. “Spirits of the air and of the earth, I command you to show me where the bloody hell poor little Lily has been stashed in this house, or so help me I’ll set fire to this pile and rub the evil, twisted ashes into your precious land beneath!” He threw the dirt into the air. It hung for a barely a nanosecond, but it was definitely draped over a rough arrow shape that pointed to John’s right.

Dean blinked. “Ok, that was kinda impressive.”

John dropped his cigarette and stamped it out before the two of them hurried across the room to a door off to the side. 

“I thought Sam already checked down here,” Dean said.

“He did.” John paused. “Where _is_ Sam?”

Dean turned and looked back at the staircase. “Sam!” he bellowed. 

They waited. 

Silence.

“Saaaauuum!” Dean shouted.

They looked at each other.

“You go for Sam. I’ll get Lily,” John said.

Dean tore off across the room and back up the staircase. John opened the door. The room beyond was empty. He put a shoe out but something made him pause. His foot hovered over the edge of the room. As he moved it further over the threshold there was a tingling sensation. A green light sparkled around the sole of his shoe. He stepped back quickly. 

“Dean!” he shouted. “Dean, wait! Don’t go into any of the rooms!”

There was no answer. He stepped away from the door and looked round at the staircase.

“Dean! Sam! Lily!”

The house was silent.

“You think this is funny?” he shouted at thin air. “One innocent girl came in, and she’s sodding well coming out again, you hear me!”

He turned back to the door. He pushed it open. He put his hands to the doorjambs and came closer to the edge. He leant in and then out again, feeling his heart speed.

“Right then. Here we go.” 

He leant in.

And then back out.

“Shit. Am I even going to end up in the same place as any of the three of them?”

He leant in.

And then right out again.

“What would Johnny Rotten do?”

He let go of the surround, and, giving an angry shout, all but jumped into the room.

 

 


	6. Six

SIX

 

 

 

Dean walloped into the floor so hard his head bounced. He grunted in pain and rolled to his side. He squinted around the room. Cold, stone, dim, it told him nothing about his predicament.

“Dean?” 

He whipped his head over his shoulder to find Sam sitting against a stone wall. A small girl was sitting next to him, holding onto his arm.

“Sam!” Dean got up quickly, coming closer and crouching down. “You ok? Is this Lily?”

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “She’s scared.”

Dean looked at the five-year-old, her brown hair braided messily behind her, her eyes watching him with barely-repressed fear. “Hey, Lily. I’m Dean,” he said with his best, warmest smile, “and I don’t mind telling you, I’m a little worried myself.”

“Any idea how you got here?” Sam asked his brother.

But Lily twisted and looked up at him. “The lady put me to sleep,” she said. “I don’t like her. I think she wanted to hurt me.”

“Is that right?” Dean said. “Well she’s been taken care of. She can’t hurt you now, ok?”

She nodded once. “Have you come to take us all home?”

Dean noticed Sam’s hand rub her arm reassuringly. “Yeah,” he said.

“That’s what Sam said, when _he_ fell from the ceiling,” Lily sighed.

Dean smiled. “Sam was… was... just waiting for me to get here too,” he said quickly. ”Once we find a door we’ll all go home, ok?”

“Ok,” she said. She looked up at Sam, and then leant into him. She closed her eyes and Sam continued to rub her arm slowly.

Sam looked at his brother. Dean shook his head and got up, walking around the room to check all the walls very carefully for any sign of a hidden door. He looked up to see the stone ceiling just as impenetrable. He checked all of the floor, then put his hands to his hips and looked back at Sam. Lily was apparently in the act of falling asleep against his right side.

They heard an angry shout, as if from the walls themselves. Dean stepped back, looking up, but there was nothing. Lily opened her eyes and clutched at Sam’s arm. “Here we go again,” she whispered.

The shout got louder. It echoed.

A lump of beige and black flashed into existence at Dean’s head height. It pummelled into the stone floor, right in the middle of the room. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

The mass of raincoat and shoes groaned in pain. “Bloody hell,” it heaved, before unfolding itself to reveal John with a face that could put the fear of spoilage into the largest joint of ham imaginable. “Arseholes,” he coughed, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Oh. Hello Sam, Dean. —Lily!” he cried, getting to his hands and knees.

The girl blinked at him. “Hello. Have you come to get us out too?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, getting up and wiping his hands together. “You alright, love? Has anyone hurt you?”

“No,” she said. “The lady made me fall asleep. I woke up here. She didn’t throw _me_ from the ceiling. How did you all get here? Are any more men going to fall from the ceiling?”

John brushed himself down and pulled his coat straight. “It’s just us. And I know how she got us here, sweetheart - trust me, she didn’t get away with it.”

“Will you explain what’s going on now?” Dean said from behind him.

John looked around the room, then backed up to the far wall. He slid his back down the stone to sit on the floor, getting comfortable. He pulled out his cigarettes but then his eyes flicked to Lily. He cleared his throat and pushed the packet back inside his coat. When his hand came out again he had his lighter in it. “Right so… Here we go. It so happened that I was going through this little town, right?” He flicked the lighter open and shut slowly, his eyes on the metal. “I had occasion to, uhm… get arrested. I was let out the next morning, just getting my gear and signing out, you know.” He straightened his shoulders, his eyes firmly fixed on the lighter being flicked open and shut, open and shut, by his thumb. “Then the sergeant bird in charge got a call right in front of me from her husband - little Lily here hadn’t turned up at school. They thought they were looking for some kind of dirty pedo that hangs around playgrounds, and you know how them witch hunts go. I saw the photo of young Miss Lily here on her mam’s desk. Reminded me of someone I know.” He paused to snap the lighter closed. He pushed it back inside his coat pocket. He looked up at Dean. “I sneaked a peak at the report. I went down to the site that Lily was supposed to have been taken from. The entire place was drenched in bad magic, really nasty juju magumbo. It smacked of dragon, the whole thing.”

“Dragons?” Lily whispered in awe.

“We’ve met dragons,” Dean said. “Go on.”

“So I tracked her down - the dragon.” John’s face hitched up at the side in a cynical smile. “I did her a deal. She could just up and leave with no recriminations in exchange for the one thing she really wanted. I just needed a few days to get it and bring it back.”

“Our book?” Sam realised, his voice angry. “You let her have our book?”

“Did I bloody hell as like,” John chuckled. “She set terms - she wanted a soul, a last snack for the road like, and she wanted me into the bargain. I’d give her the book, myself and one meal, and she could get her proper dragon form back, and she’d leave our world. Seeing as it was that or let her go on a child killing spree in every town she came across, I agreed.”

Dean advanced on him. “You little—“

“Whoa there, John Wayne,” John said wearily, his right hand up in a gesture that Dean had seen before on people who were either about poke out both eyes or name and command a demon. Dean rocked back on his heels, both hands out to show they were empty. John looked over at Lily, and his hand folded into a completely different gesture. “See this?”

Lily clapped her hands. “You had your fingers crossed! That means a promise doesn’t count!”

John grinned and winked at her.

“So what, then?” Sam asked. “Because when we found you—“

“Yeah. Not my best angle, I have to admit,” John said. “I went to meet her. I asked her to give me Lily and then leave in exchange for the book. She refused. She was going to take Lily, and me, and use the book to slip her human form and go back to terrorising our world, but this time in her real body.”

Dean leant back against the wall, watching him. “And?”

“So I didn’t hand over the book,” John said. “I’d spent all morning reading it. Used a passage out of it to send her home anyway - her lot will sort her out. She’s been a bad, bad dragon, and she’ll get a good going over now she’s home amongst her own. Avalon doesn’t take trespass onto hallowed ground lightly.”

“You… used a passage,” Dean said. “A _passage_.”

John looked at him. “Poor choice of words, maybe, considering how you found me,” he smiled. “I _recited_ a passage, but it had to be at the right time. It’s dirty, that book - proper dirty magic. It gets its power from bodily fluids, like blood or—.” He paused to look at Lily but his eyes darted away again.

“Like coffee?” Lily asked innocently. “Daddy says coffee is pure magic in the morning.”

John smiled at his shoes. “Something like that, love. Anyway, she’s gone home - most likely to prison. Lily’s safe, and the dragon won’t be eating me any time soon either, so I’d call it a win.”

“A win?” Dean demanded. “Don’t get me started on the delay you’re causing me and Sam. And we don’t even know where we are!”

 John looked up at him. “I know where we are. I should have realised what the house was when I first went in, but you know, I was a bit distracted with a dragon that could rip my throat out if she didn’t like the next thing I said.”

“So where are we - and can we get out?” Sam asked.

“I don’t want to upset anyone,” Lily said quietly, “but I am getting hungry. I was on my own all day yesterday.”

“They just left you in here?” John asked, his face turning angry. “That’s against the rules.” He stood up. “Whatever happens, do not eat or drink anything until I say so.”

“Why?” Lily asked.

“Because this isn’t America, pet,” he said kindly. “This is Avalon, where the faeries and all their kind live. If we eat their food, we’ll be stuck here forever.”

“We’re in Avalon?” Sam asked, but something about his voice was ever so slightly awestruck.

“I might like to be a faerie,” Lily said.

“What about your poor mam, back at home?” John asked.

She let her head tilt. “Yeah. I want my mommy now.”

“Right. So no eating or drinking, right? Nothing at all. Do not put anything in your mouth,” John said. Dean opened his mouth and his finger went up in a question. John nodded at him. “I do mean _anything_.”

Dean pursed his lips and his hand dropped hastily. 

“You were going to smoke a cigarette,” Lily said. “Which is very bad for you, you know.”

“Oh I know,” John smiled. “But I brought them with me. Now then, are we all ready to leave?”

Lily clapped her hands delightedly. “I am!”

“Then I’ll open the door,” John grinned.

Sam got to his feet, getting Lily up too. “What do we need to do?” he asked.

“When I get the exit open, you two keep her safe. They want her, not us. We’re expendable.”

“Why?” Lily asked.

“They’re faeries, love. They’re horrible, spiteful little things that will bite your finger off if you go near them,” he said. “They don’t have mams to tell ‘em off, see? No mam or dad to stop them doing naughty things.”

“No mommy or daddy?” she asked, aghast.

“Exactly. Which means no baby faeries. They steal little kids like you - the nicer, the better. They make them eat their food so they get stuck here. They turn into faeries. But can you imagine how much you’d miss your parents? Of course faeries are angry little bleeders - it’s unfair, what’s happened to them.”

Dean swung his hands out. “Ok, man. Let’s go.”

“When the door opens, they’re not going to be happy. We might have to fight our way out. Only, that’s not my strong point, so just keep Lily with you, alright?” he said.

“Not a problem. I got a bone to pick with a few faeries,” Dean grunted.

John snapped his fingers and pointed at Dean’s jacket. “Open the book, Dean. I need you to read from it.”

Dean pulled it from inside his jacket, then opened it up and flicked through. “Whereabouts?”

“Page three-seven-nine,” John said. “Second passage.”

Dean flicked back and then raised the book. He balked. “Are you kiddin’ me? This is gibberish.”

“It’s Welsh,” John sighed. He looked at Sam. “Can you read it?”

“I’ve seen it before - I can try,” he said.

“Swap,” John said.

Sam took Lily’s hand, walking her over to his brother. “Dean’s going to look after you, ok?”

“Ok,” she said, her face tilted down in shyness. Dean handed Sam the book, then picked her up and sat her on his arm. She pulled at the knee of her dark blue dungarees in worry.

Sam’s eyes scanned the book quickly. He nodded. “Yeah, I think I can do this.”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect - just close,” John said. He took his lighter from his pocket and pulled the bottom off. He poured a little of the resulting lighter fluid over his hands, then realised Lily was watching with wide eyes. “Never, _ever_ do this, alright?”

“Ok,” she said.

John looked at Dean. “Make sure she doesn’t hear or see what happens next. Please.”

Dean put his hand to her head and held her close. She put her arms round as much of him as she could. “We’ll be ok, Lily,” he said.

“Yeah, everything’s going to be fine,” John said. “Uncle John’ll get you home.” The smile slipped off his face like heat from sunshine dying in a frozen pond. He cleared his throat quickly, his eyes safely on the floor. “Right. You read that good and loud, Sam. Once the flames start, you lot head for the door.”

“Where’s it going to be?” Dean asked.

“No idea till it appears. Avalon is a pain in the arse like that.” 

Sam began to read, stumbling at first, but getting louder as he grew more confident.

John closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and then flicked at the lighter.

Bright flames spread over his hands. He lifted them both out, his eyes still closed, as he muttered something. Sam read louder. The room began to smell of oil, dirt, stagnant water. John’s voice got louder. Sam matched his volume. The flames went from blue-yellow to bright pink. Dean kept a good hold on Lily as he looked around them, searching for anything that looked like a way out.

There was a _pop_. He turned to his left and saw a hole in the wall, its edges sparkling green. “Hold tight, Lily,” he said. “Sam! John! C’mon!” He went for the portal.

Sam was right behind him. They clambered through, the light suddenly leaving them. 

Abruptly there was another _pop_. It went pitch black.

Lily whimpered. Dean squeezed her closer. “You’re ok, sweetheart,” he breathed. “Close your eyes, ok? Keep them shut for me.”

“Ok,” she whispered. 

“Dean? Is that you?” came a voice.

“Sam,” he realised. “Yeah, we’re ok. Where’s John?”

“Behind you, squire.”

Dean turned. “I can’t see a thing. Anyone got a light?”

There was a spark and they looked at the tall, wavering yellow light of a Zippo lighter. Every single thing around it was still pitch black. No dim light, no fall-out from the flame cast any luminescence at all. “Well we’re out of the room,” John said. “This looks like the road home. Ready?”

The lighter moved away, and Dean hurried to catch it up. He heard Sam behind him. “You do know where we are, right?” he asked John.

“I do. This is No Man’s Land - the gap between Avalon and our world,” he said. “We walk.”

“Until?” Dean asked.

“Until we hit something.”

“Awesome,” Dean groused. He kept up with the light, hearing another set of boots to his right. “Stick close, Sam.”

“Just keep walking,” Sam replied.

“Watch out for things pulling at you. Do _not_ stop walking,” John said quietly.

“Gotcha,” Dean said.

“Dean? I’m scared,” Lily said. “I want my mom now please.”

“Hey - you know any good songs, Lily?” Sam asked. “Dean does.”

“I know the ABC song,” she said. “Do you know the ABC song, Dean?”

“You know what? I forgot,” he said in the pitch. “Why don’t you sing it for us, Lily?”

“How about you _don’t_ ,” John interrupted. “We don’t want anyone to hear you and follow us, now do we?”

“Oh,” she said. “Whoops.”

They paced along faster, but as they did, Dean felt Lily’s tiny hands squeeze tighter at the material of his jacket. He began to hum - very softly, very low. A few bars of _Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution_ later and Lily had relaxed her grip.

Dean felt something at his elbow. “Ok - they’re onto to us.”

“They’ve tracked us,” John said. “They’ve tracked us and they’ve come to take her back.”

Lily squeaked and threw her arms round Dean ’s neck. “They’re not taking you anywhere,” Dean said firmly. “Not without me.” 

She buried her head in his neck. Something grabbed at his free arm. He pulled it back. 

“Do you know how much longer we got to go?” he asked.

“Can’t tell,” John said. “Why?”

Something pushed at Dean’s knee. He stumbled but kept his balance. “Cut that out!” he cried angrily. It pushed at his back, clawed something sharp over his cheek.

“Walk faster,” John said.

They followed the lighter, the single point in the darkness. Sam reached out and grasped at Dean’s sleeve. “Is that you?” he asked.

“Yeah it’s me,” Dean grumped. “I’m getting cut up here.”

Sam felt something on his arm.

“It’s only me, Sam,” John said. “I’ll keep a good hold of you and run. Keep a bloody good grip on your brother - and Dean, you hang onto Lily. If we lose her—“

“We won’t,” Dean said. “She ain’t going anywhere without me.”

“Thank you,” Lily squeaked.

John yanked on Sam’s sleeve as he took off running. The flame from the lighter stood straight up, as if the passing air had no effect on it at all. Sam fell into step and Dean hurried along behind, pulled ever onwards by Sam’s hand. Lily clutched at Dean with all her strength, little breaths bumped out of her as they tore along.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“Just keep looking at the light,” Dean managed as they swept along in the darkness. Something thumped at Dean’s shoulder. He felt steely claws down the back of his calf. “They’re testing for weak spots here,” he warned.

“They won’t attack when there’s light,” John said, sounding out of breath.

They ran on, four pairs of eyes fixed on the flame coming from the lighter in front of them.

Until it went out.

 


	7. Seven

 

SEVEN

 

**_Warning: F-bombs ahead!_ **

 

 

Something sharp pounded at Dean’s back. He was hurled to the floor. “Argh! Sam! Keep them off Lily!” 

Sounds of a one-sided scuffle made Sam and John stop dead.

“No! You’re hurting him!” Lily wailed. “Stop it!”

“Will someone get these _friggin’ faeries off me!_ ” Dean raged.

Sam reached down, trying to find him by voice. His hands encountered a myriad of tiny blades. He gasped in pain as they began to gnaw at his fingers. He grabbed. Small, squishy warm bundles of movement writhed in his hands as he ripped them away from his brother. He threw and refilled his hands. “John!” he called. “Do something! Magic - or - I don’t know - something!”

“There’s no magic in No Man’s Land,” John snapped.

“Is there _fire?_ ” Dean shouted in anger.

“Anyone else got a lighter? I’m out of fluid,” John said. Something brushed Sam’s arm and the taller Winchester realised John was also tearing tiny biters from his brother.

“They just keep coming back!” Sam realised. He pulled the silver knife from his pocket and began chopping at whatever was poking out of his hands. Diminutive screams cut the growling scuffle on the floor.

“Just get me up!” Dean raged. “We gotta run!”

Sam grabbed for him. Dean felt two sets of hands round his arms. He half-struggled, was half-lifted to his feet. Something warm and sticky ran into his eye.

“Go!” John hurled. “Just run until it gets light - we have to cross the border somewhere!”

“What if we’re going in circles?” Lily asked.

“Nah - we know where we’re going, love,” John said in a surprisingly reassuring tone. He shoved on Dean’s back. He didn’t need telling twice. He took off as fast as he could. “Sam, go,” John said in the pitch black. “Follow the noise. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Sure?”

“Don’t lose them.”

Sam turned and ran, calling for his brother.

John turned in the darkness. He felt the small rabid bites of angry faeries at his neck, his face, his hands. “Now, you little shits,” he sneered. “Want blood, do you?” 

He pulled off his raincoat and felt around the floor, locating Sam’s fallen knife. He lifted it and slid the blade down his forearm. He felt the blood spill and grinned, as abruptly the nibbling all around him ceased. Instead he felt the gentle touch of tiny wings and feet, as the faeries congregated, all jostling for position on his arm, his rolled up sleeve, the shirt over his chest. They reached, they squabbled, they pushed and shoved each other in their desire to be the first to taste human.

“Well go on then,” he said, his grin and tone malicious. “You can have it, free of charge. I _dare_ you.”

 

ooOoo

 

Dean ran and ran. He felt his brother’s hand on his back, as if to somehow keep him upright as they pounded along.

Suddenly there were no more nicks or cuts to his face, his cheek, the back of his hand to Lily’s head. “They’re leaving!”

“Maybe we’re close to the edge,” Sam puffed.

Lily held on tight. “Please keep running!”

 

ooOoo

 

The first feel of miniature jaws clamping on the cut made John jump and hiss. But his face soon melted back into an evil sneer. “And… wait for it…”

An unholy scream went up around him. Faeries convulsed and wailed. He felt the tiny touches leaving his skin. He began to laugh.

Voices whispered at him from below, from close to his head, from every patch of darkness.

“ _We’ll kill you_.”

“ _We won’t let you leave_.”

“ _Your tainted blood can’t harm us_.”

“ _We will feast on you_.”

“ _The child will be ours_.”

John felt something wriggle under his trouser leg and bite down on his skin. He cursed and shook his foot. It fell away. He bent over to listen. And then he lifted his boot and slammed it down.

A splat and a scream echoed around him.

“ _You killed our sister_.”

“ _You will die_.”

“ _You are known to us, John Constantine, forever and always_.”

“Yeah? Well know this.” He began to slap at the bites against his skin. More faeries fell away - only to be replaced. “You’re not getting _her_.” He felt the wings multiplying, felt the beating of them against every part of him as they swarmed. 

Completely covered, he realised his ears, his nose, were blocked. Something bit down on his lip, clamping it shut. More bites followed in a line until his ability to breathe was stolen from him.

“ _Now we bring our guardians_.”

“ _They will make you suffer._ ”

He struggled and flailed, trying to breathe. He ran.

 

ooOoo

 

Dean felt his chest start to burn. He did not stop running. Sam pushed on his back.

Abruptly, so sharply, it was light. Dean skidded to a stop, hauling in air. “Sam!” he managed, turning to look behind him. “John!” 

No Sam. No John. Only a thin green line floated at knee height.

“Dean?” came Sam’s voice.

Dean looked around at the beautiful sunny field surrounding them. The sun shone, the leaves on the trees waved lazily in the breeze, and birds coursed overhead. “I’m outside, man! Lily’s safe!” he cried. “Where are you?”

“I must be like a step away,” was the reply.

“I can’t see you!”

“I’m still in the dark.”

“Then get out here! Now!” Dean raged.

“I can hear something - it sounds like—.” Sam’s voice stopped.

Dean let Lily down to the grass. She clamped her hand around his. Dean looked down at her. “You’re ok, Lily. We’re alright,” he panted. He looked up again. “Sam?” There was no answer. “Saaauuummm!”

“I’m going back for John!”

“With what? You need fire or something to stop them attacking!” Dean shouted. “You don’t have anything!”

Lily tugged on Dean’s hand. “Look,” she said urgently, pulling harder. “Look!”

“Lily, sweetheart, we’re a bit busy thinkin’ right now,” Dean said.

She pulled again. “But there’s a car over there - people!”

Dean halted abruptly. “Sam - don’t move,” he ordered. “I’ll get you some fire.”

“What?” was Sam’s bodiless reply.

Dean crouched and looked at the small child. “Lily,” he said sternly, “I need you to stand _right here_ and not move, ok? If you move, we’ll never find Sam again - or John. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” she said quietly.

“You are one smart kid, ok? You just saved this whole day.”

“I did?”

“You did. Now please - _stay here_.”

She folded her arms and sat down in the grass. “Sam?” she called.

“Yeah, Lily.”

“You stay here too. Don’t wander off without me or Dean.”

“Absolutely, Lily,” was his amused voice.

Dean was already running toward the parked car.

 

ooOoo

 

John desperately tried to cough - but there was no air. His lungs bursting, his eyes and ears and nose full of the battering wings of faeries, he sank to his knees. He clawed at his face, trying to pull the offending tiny people from his lips. They bit harder. 

His head hit the ground. He bucked and heaved, trying to get free. His hands scrabbled weaker, ever weaker.

Until there was squealing. Everything burnt, everything screamed. Consciousness was just waving a sad farewell as his nose became unplugged. Without his guidance his chest dragged in welcome air.

His mouth opened, the bites disappearing in an instant. The screaming continued - rage, hatred, blind fury filled the darkness.

“John - you ok, man? Where are you?” said a voice.

Coughing on something wet and warm he really _really_ hoped was his own spit - or even blood - John was unable to do anything but flop on the floor. He slapped his hand against the ground repeatedly as he tried to breathe.

A hand landed on his shoulder. “I got you, John.”

“Are they—“ He coughed and hacked. “Are they still here?”

“I don’t think so. Now let’s go before they get more angry than allergic.”

A large hand wrapped round John’s arm and helped him up. He felt himself dropping but then he was forced upright. Sam walked him on, one arm round his back and under his left arm, the other carrying the short tree branch that featured barely a flame above its bright red end.

“They’re off getting - getting - reinforcements,” John rasped.

“Yeah? Well we’re not too far from the edge. They’ll be too late.”

The journey was interminable. A skitter to their left, a scrape and a hiss to their right - everything sounded malevolent in the pitch black.

Abruptly they saw a single, shining arm. “Sam! John!” came a squeak.

“Lily?” Sam grinned.

John balked at the sight of a seemingly dismembered arm waving in the middle of the darkness as if it were its own light source, but Sam went straight for it.

The branch leapt from his hand. It hit the ground by his feet. John stood back, shielding his eyes, as the flames grew. They blew upwards, taller than even Sam, bathing the entire area in sickly grey light.

“What the—“ Sam stepped back - but through the wall of flames he caught sight of Dean. Lily was trying to see round his leg, but his hand was keeping her back.

A tickle, a press on John’s shoulder. He put his hand up and moved to sweep it off.

Something hot and hard clamped on his wrist. The next second he was hoisted upward and off his feet. He gazed up at the figure holding him. His mouth fell open.

“Fuck me,” he breathed in awe.

The slender, sinewy torso of some kind of tree-woman swayed as the arm lifted him higher. Her wooden face was perfectly smooth - until she began to hiss and grin an evil precursor to murder. It splintered and cracked to let out long, shiny wooden teeth.

“Wait - I had that backwards,” John said. “What was I meant was _fuck you_.” He swung his feet back and then slammed them into her waist.

She dropped him, hissing. It was then that he realised the grey light was bleeding outwards, caused by the flames sheeting higher. He scrabbled to his feet and put a hand behind him to grab Sam’s arm. He was already turning, making sure the two men’s backs were together.

They stared at the circle of wooden women surrounding them.

“What the hell are they?” Sam whispered.

“Nymphs,” John said. Sam twisted to look down at him over his shoulder. John noticed and looked up at him. “Yeah. The legends lie. Beautiful, yeah. Want to shag you? No. More like break you up for something soft to sleep on. Or in.”

“Sam! John!” came Dean’s voice.

They did not dare look in the direction of the flames. “What?” Sam called back.

“What are you waiting for?” Dean called.

“We’re kind of stuck!” Sam shouted. “Nymphs!” Then his face crumbled in abrupt self-kickery and he looked at his feet. “Oh no. I didn’t.”

“What?” John asked, turning to see a tall, light-coloured tree-woman slide a little closer to him.

“Wait for it,” Sam sighed.

Dean came crashing through the flames. His jump took him skidding to a halt in between John and the grinning nymph. “Holy crap!” he blurted. His boots shuffled back hastily. “That ain’t what I pictured!”

“Where’s Lily?” John demanded, his eyes on the nymph.

“She’s keeping the door open,” Dean said. He put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a long, wide blade that shone rather dully in the grey light. “Who’s for party favours?” he asked. Sam took it from him and Dean felt through his jacket for the other one. He turned it and proffered the grip to John.

“Machetes?” He grinned. “I love that you just have them on you, like it’s nothing.”

“Take it,” Dean urged. “First woman that moves - do a little pruning.”

John’s hand closed around it slowly as he looked at the long blade. “What about you?”

Dean spun back to look at the nearest woman. “I’ll improvise.” He took a step forward. “Ok, ladies,” he grinned. He clapped his hands together, rubbing. “We ain’t letting you past us, and you ain’t in the mood to let us go.” He paused. “So who’s first?”

The thicker tree-person to his right shot forward. As Sam and John raised their machetes, whirling and slicing at attackers, Dean grabbed. His hands captured an arm. He let out an angry shout as he yanked and jerked.

A splintering sound nearly made everyone stop. A scream, a flicker of the flames - but Dean had a long wooden arm in his hands. He blinked at it in surprise. Then he stepped right into the fray. He swung the deadened arm like a club. 

Sam hacked off an arm, a head, fingers. The flames flickered and danced. The grey light sucked the colour from everything - even the blood from the scrapes to their faces. John’s blade sunk into a torso. Only a shockingly filthy curse and a shoe well placed against the chest sucked it free. He whirled and chopped, with far less grace than Sam but possibly more anger.

Dean’s makeshift club was doing him proud as it smashed into heads and arms. It went into a shoulder so hard that the owner was flung out of the circle of grey light. She disappeared into the darkness, swallowed up by the pitch.

More replaced her. As Sam and John stayed back to back, hacking and slicing like spinning tops on steroids, Dean simply waded in and bashed at everything standing. Something grabbed; he head-butted. A hand caught at his shoulder; he elbowed it off and pummelled the club into her. 

“I know now is not the time,” John called over the hack-and-slash din, “but your brother has some pretty serious anger issues!”

Sam swung low and chopped a torso nearly in half. “I wish that’s all it was!”

“What?”

“Hit someone!”

John put his back into the next slice. The woman splintered as she stumbled back. Her upper body lost balance and he watched in horror as it fell backwards. She was peeled in half, wicked strips of tortured wood sticking up like stalagmites. Some sound pulled for his attention, something small and buzzing and ferocious.

“Oh buggering hell!” he growled. “The bloody faeries are back!”

“How do we get out?” Sam called.

“Put out the fire!” John said as he swiped for a wooden hand. “We need to be _out_ before it goes completely out.”

“I’ll cover you - you find a way to put it out!”

“And when I do, you make Dean give up the fight,” John said. “I’m not going near him till he puts that arm down.”

“I won’t stop him kicking your ass for taking our book and delaying us!” Sam warned.

“I’ve already given it back, Sam!” John cried in protest. “I was _always_ going to give it back.”

Sam took the machete from him. “Just get us out of here.”

John crouched by the flames. He put a hand closer, closer, closer - and then thrust it right in. “Cheating bastards!” he blurted. “It’s _magic_ fire!”

“I thought you said magic didn’t work in No Man’s Land!” Sam raged as he chopped.

“It’s not supposed to!”

“Get that fire out!”

John looked around the floor. He spotted his raincoat down by Dean’s right boot. He scrabbled across the ground on his hands and knees, pushing through wooden legs and ankles, knocking aside knees. Something snatched at his hair and wrenched him up on his knees. He grabbed for the hands to somehow get them off.

A tremendous _wallop_ whooshed so close to his hands that he froze in fear. The next second his head was free. He glanced up and saw Dean and his club turn away from him. He sank gratefully to the ground and reached for the coat. Hurrying back through the melée to the fire, he dropped to his knees with the trenchcoat.

“Do me a favour,” he said. “Just don’t burn, mate. If anything happens to you I’ll never forgive myself.”

He flung the coat over the still burning branch on the floor. The grey light began to fade. 

“Now, Sam! Now! Get out before the light goes!”

Sam didn’t think. He simply reached out and grabbed Dean’s shoulder. The eldest Winchester was still swinging as Sam yanked him backwards to the dying flames.

John watched them reach the magical fire. Dean pushed Sam through. Then he turned and raised the club. He swung it with all his strength at John’s head.

John ducked in fear of his life to hear something wooden right behind him smash so hard it splintered. He grabbed the sleeve of his trenchcoat. He dug his heels into the floor and hurled himself headfirst into Dean’s stomach.

The two of them flew off their feet directly into the portal.

 


	8. Eight

EIGHT

 

 

They broke out into bright sunshine.

Dean landed back in the carpet of green, a mighty “ _Oof!_ ” telling tales of being winded. John bounced off him to one side. He rolled to a stop in the grass on his back, arms out wide. His coat was similarly sprawled, making them look like twins. Sam, panting hard and feeling all of him ache, sank to his knees. He dropped both machetes and sat back on his heels in gratitude.

Lily jumped up from her cross-legged wait and ran over to him. She grabbed his arm and yanked until he opened his eyes. “Sam? Are you ok?”

“Yeah, Lily, I’m good. We all are.” He looked over at the other two. “We’re good, right?”

John waved a hand up in weary reply. Dean coughed in air but he was nodding.

Lily got up and went to John. She leant on his shirt, rocking him. “John,” she said in fear. “There’s a lot of blood on your face. Did the faeries hurt you?”

“That depends,” he managed, his voice rough. “Are you alright, love?”

“I am.”

“Then I’m sound as a pound.” He let his eyes close. “Sound… As. A. Pound.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at him. “They almost killed you.”

“‘Almost’ doesn’t count,” John grinned. 

Sam looked around at the still summer’s day. He took in the peace and serenity, the absolute calm of it all. He assessed the trees, the lush grass, and then squinted up at the sun. “Does anyone know where we are?”

Dean pulled himself up to sit, running a hand through his hair before twisting to survey the land. “I don’t see a city round here. How far away are from the house? My car?”

“I have no idea,” Sam said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped at it. “Well it’s not—. Whoa.”

“What?”

“I just got an SMS from the local service provider.”

“And?”

“It says ‘Welcome to 02 UK’. Then… it’s telling me how much it costs to roam internationally.” He frowned. “That’s a lot.”

“But does it say where we _are?_ ” Dean asked.

“This is England, mate. Glastonbury, at a guess,” John announced from his back in the grass. “Occupies the same space as Avalon. Technically.”

“Well that’s just great,” Dean sighed. “How do we get back home?”

“Uh… no idea,” Sam said. He looked up at the sun, plans and their success rates going through his head, before the blistering sun reminded him of fire. “Hey,” he said to Dean. “The branch - it worked.”

“Told you,” Dean said smugly. “If they wanted Lily so much, she was the only one who could have handed it back in there to you.”

“I’m pretty sure,” John mused, “that if you hadn’t been in there with me and Sam, things would have gone very Pete Tong very quickly.” He paused. “Whatever’s eating you? Sort it out. It’s not good.”

Dean huffed. “Whatever works, man.”

“Well you’re all covered in boo-boos,” Lily said, distinctly unhappy.

Dean looked at Sam, then John. “We do look a little scratched up.”

“A little? Dean, we look like we’ve been trapped in a CuisineArt,” Sam scoffed.

John raised his hand again, his eyes still closed against the sunshine. “I’ve got a bit of magic that’ll clear that right up.”

Sam smiled. “And could it get us home, too?”

“That’s another story,” John said.

“You mean no.”

He opened his eyes and sat up slowly. “We’ll have to work that out later. We have company.”

“Who?” Dean asked, looking around.

John pointed upward.

The four of them craned their necks up to see a large shape, hanging in the air directly above them.

“A dragon!” Lily cried in excitement. She clapped her hands and giggled.

Sam and Dean felt their hands try to locate weapons in their belts.

John put a hand out for calm. “Wait,” he said quietly.

The dragon, roughly the size of six Impalas parked bumper to bumper, dropped to a graceful landing in the grass. Not a single thing moved.

The four people stared. The dragon simply shook her long, sinewy neck in a manoeuvre that reminded Lily of a horse. She came forward, her hand out.

“Lily,” Dean barked.

“She won’t hurt me,” she said happily. The dragon bent her front legs down and slewed her head down, and Lily stroked the long bone along her nose. “She’s warm and soft! Like a snake!”

The dragon winked the eye on the side of her head closest to Lily, and she laughed. Then the creature lifted her head slowly, as if loathe to lose the touch of a small child. She raised her gaze to the three men.

“Oh shit!” John blurted. Sam and Dean tensed. John climbed to his feet and knocked the grass off his trousers as best he could. “Sorry, your majesty - I didn’t recognise you.” He bent his head down till he had to bend his body, affecting a bow that had him almost perpendicular, his hands straight at his sides.

Sam smacked the back of his hand into Dean’s arm and copied John. Dean realised what was happening and followed suit.

“She’s a _queen?_ ” Lily gasped in awe. “Is that why her body shines different rainbow colours when she moves?”

The dragon’s mouth curved up at the edges. She lowered her head again. “You elders may stand,” she rumbled.

Dean jumped in surprise, but all three men straightened up. 

“You have my thanks,” the dragon continued. “The young girl was in my land for far too long. Had I known she was there, I would have set her free. She has suffered terribly at the hands of some of my people.”

“I’m sure you were busy with bigger things,” John said.

“There is nothing bigger than a child,” the dragon replied, her large, pearlescent eyes on Lily.

“It was ok,” she said. “I’m just really hungry. And I miss my mommy and daddy.”

“Of course you do,” the dragon breathed. She raised her head high, looking down at the three men. “You have done me a great service. I will send you across these lands to your home.” She swivelled her head at John. “You, mage. You may borrow energy from Avalon to repair the damage we have caused your frail bodies.”

“Oh. Uhm, ta love,” he said, surprised.

“You will find rewards awaiting you. It cannot compensate you for your expenditure, but I hope it shows my gratitude.”

“We were just here for Lily, your - uh - majesty,” Sam said awkwardly.

“Nevertheless, you shall be rewarded.” The dragon straightened up. “I will take my leave. You will be home soon. All of you.”

“Am I going straight to my own house _now?_ ” Lily asked, her face falling. “Right now?”

The dragon looked at her fondly. “Yes, child. Make your goodbyes.”

Lily turned and ran at Dean. “Thank you! Thank you for making the faeries not steal me!” she cried, grabbing onto his leg and hugging. 

He lifted her up and sat her on his arm. “Don’t go telling your folks about all this. They’ll say you had a dream, or put you in a special school. And we don’t want that.”

“Can I draw it?” she asked, her face sad.

“Sure. Tell them you made it up. Adults like to hear that,” Dean said.

She grinned and wrapped her arms round his scratched up neck. “Thank you for saving me.” She put up her arm, wrapped in cotton sleeve, and cleaned a bit of blood from his face. She aimed very carefully and pushed a kiss into the safe bit of his cheek. He smiled before letting her down to the grass. She went to Sam and he picked up her, to get a big hug and a kiss from her. “Thank you for making me not scared,” she said.

“You are very welcome, Lily.”

“I’m gonna draw you _reeeeally_ tall,” she giggled.

“Uh, thanks,” he managed.

He let her down and she marched up to John. She tapped on his knee and he looked down at her. Her hands went to her hips. “You have to stop pretending you don’t need your friends,” she said sternly. “And don’t smoke those cigarettes. They’re very bad and they’ll make you very sick. And I don’t want my friends to be sick.”

He smiled, crouching and putting a hand out. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He just waggled his fingers. She shook it and giggled, leaning forward and kissing his cheek. 

She let him go, turning back to the dragon. “Ok, your majesty, I’m ready to go home now, thank you please.”

The dragon’s mouth curled up again and she lowered her head. “Then… you are home.”

Lily vanished. Sam and Dean gave a start, but John walked back to his raincoat, still flung out wide on the grass as if it were sunbathing. He picked it up and pulled it on wearily.

“And you three,” the dragon said. “You may visit us again. But please, go call on me first.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, ok,” Sam said, his eyes wide.

“Definitely - yeah - like - yeah,” Dean gabbled.

“Are you read to go home?” the dragon asked. “It will take but a moment, then I must away. I cannot survive in your world for too long. Every moment I spend here weakens me.”

John stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “God save the Queen,” he winked.

 

ooOoo

 

The Impala was startled, but not at all upset, to witness the abrupt blink that brought three familiar men back within ten feet of her rear wing. Their reflections in her bodywork were all about surprise, gratitude, and plain old relief.

Dean looked at his hands, then around at the car. “Baby,” he breathed, going forward and touching at the line of her rear window reverently.

Sam turned to John. “Did you know that was going to happen?”

“What, that Dean would go weak at the knees when he realised his motor was alright? Something made that inevitable,” he smiled.

Sam shook his head. “I’ve never seen a dragon like that, man.”

“And you probably never will again,” John said. He clapped his hands together and rubbed. “Now then. Who wants a bit of magic to stop ’em looking like a victim of a lawnmower accident?”

Dean turned from his car. “You sure this is safe?”

“Mate, it’s a gift from Avalon, you heard Her Majesty,” he grinned. “Besides, these cuts are really starting to bloody sting.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, pressing the back of his hand to his temple. “So… do what you do.”

John bent down to the surface of the car park and grabbed at a handful of dirt. He hissed in slight pain as he dropped it again, then looked around. He found a rather sparse clump of dried out grass at the edge of the tarmac. He walked over and crouched to look at it. “Oh spirits of the land, of the air, and the sodding non-existent water - do me a favour and use your divine influence to get us some proper grass. The queen of Avalon herself said you could, just this once.”

“You call that magic?” Sam asked, bemused.

John looked up at him - and the clump of grass suddenly rippled and reached upward. It grew another three inches in the space of two seconds, turning bright, vibrant green, thickening until it was lush and new. “Magic’s just fancy words in the right order - trigger words, if you will. Telling someone that either you said they had to, or some higher power - either theirs or yours - said it had to happen.” His eyes followed his hand down as he grasped a tuft and gripped it tightly. He closed his eyes and muttered something.

Sam took a step back as he saw the cuts and scrapes on John literally close over and sink into oblivion. Blood vanished, criss-cross wounds sealed up and faded away. It took barely ten seconds, sealing up all his injuries but turning the grass into dried up straw before their eyes. As John let go of the grass and stood up again, Sam and Dean marvelled at the amount of healing that had taken place.

John looked at his palms, then the backs of his hands. “Sorted.”

“Our turn?” Dean asked hopefully.

“You’re done,” he smiled.

Sam and Dean checked the hands - and then turned to each other and pointed at faces, surprised and grateful in equal measure.

“Whoa - thanks, man,” Dean breathed.

John said nothing, keeping his eyes anywhere but Dean. 

He went to the Impala and unlocked her, squeaking open the driver’s door. “Hey… didn’t she say we were supposed to get rewards?”

“Dean,” Sam tutted. “I think we could just be thankful we’re not dead, and she let John use magic to heal us up.”

John patted at his trenchcoat pockets, pulling out a mashed-up packet of Silk Cut. “Ahh… bollocks,” he sighed. But his left hand pulled out another, brand new packet. He grinned and attacked the plastic wrapper to open it up, then ripped out the protective foil. He pushed it all in his trouser pocket as he looked for his lighter. His hand brought out another packet. He tossed it to the grass and pulled out another - and then another - and then _another_. “Bugger me,” he laughed, as he pulled out one more packet. He found the lighter and noticed Dean watching him. He looked almost nervously at the Zippo. He flicked it on and a bright flame emerged. “Now _that’s_ magic,” he grinned. He lit up a cigarette and sighed happily to himself.

“I don’t get it,” Dean said, shaking his head.

“Me neither,” Sam said. He went to the trunk and opened it up, about to throw in the machetes. But he paused. “Hey, uh, Dean? When did we buy all this beer?”

Dean came round the boot to find three boxes of twenty-four bottles cheerfully sitting side-by-side on the false bottom. He scratched his head. “Ok, now that? _That_ I can understand.”

Sam smiled. He dropped the blades next to the beer instead of fighting to get it under the false floor, and just closed the boot lid. 

Dean looked at John, enjoying his cigarette. He looked at the boot of the car and frowned. His eyes went back to John, then back to his car. He looked up abruptly and put his hand to Sam’s jacket pocket, fishing out his phone. 

“Hey - use yours,” Sam said, bemused.

“No, dude - check it,” Dean said, pressing a button on the phone to wake the screen. He turned it to let Sam see the top of the display, but John was too busy collecting up the strewn cigarette packets and stuffing them in his raincoat pockets.

“What the—.” Sam took the phone from his brother, his thumbs going over the lock code to enable him to play with what he felt were important apps. They all clearly heard the tone announcing new e-mail, prompting Sam to look up in awe. “It’s tethered to someone’s wi-fi,” he said. “Like… super fast, _amazing_ wi-fi.”

“That’s the thing about magic,” John said from round his cigarette. “It knows you better than you know yourself.”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah, well. I am so done with magic for the next few weeks.” 

John pushed his cigarette into his lips and his hands into his trouser pockets. “So… we have a problem, yeah?”

Dean fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out the book. “Well it’s still here,” he said pointedly. “But we were on a mission, and you delayed us. So yeah, we have a problem. The only reason I’m not beating you to a pulp right now is cos, one, Sam’s watching, and two, I don’t have the time - thanks to you.”

John looked at the tarmac, turning something over in his mind. “Look. You know what it’s like. If we told people some of the shit we’ve seen, they’d lock us up. I mean, bugger me, I’ve _been_ locked up in a loony bin, and they _still_ didn’t think what I believed in was real.”

“I might know what you mean,” Sam sighed.

“I stole your book,” John said, meeting Sam’s eyes now. He pulled the Silk Cut from his mouth. “I needed it more than you did - at least temporarily. I didn’t tell you why I needed it because I didn’t think you’d believe me, and going through it all would have slowed me down. I had a deadline before Lily was dragon food.” He paused, turning something over in his mind. He inspected the lighted end of the cigarette in his hand. “I’m not sorry, fellas. And yeah, I would do it again, if it saved someone.”

Dean’s face took on the welcoming sheen of granite. “Well at least you’re honest.”

John grinned, shaking his head. “I’ve been called many things, mate, but never that.”

“So you were gonna give us the book back?” Sam asked.

“I was,” John said, looking him in the eye. “Believe it or not, I was going to take care of the dragon and bring it back to you.” He paused. “‘Course, I ended up needing your help, but… I always meant to bring it back.”

“You could have just asked for it,” Dean grumbled, but it looked as though the wind was seeping from his sails. “You didn’t have to hang around with us all night, waiting for a chance to pinch it.”

“You wouldn’t have let me take it if I’d asked. And…” John looked at his feet. “This is going to sound lame, but…” He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders to look Dean in the eye. “I liked it. Just drinking in a bar, with people who could have been my mates in another life. All my friends are dead. I don’t get an evening like that very often.”

Dean avoided his eyes suddenly, choosing to assess the grass. “Yeah, well.”

“You two should probably be careful,” John groused. “People who know me end up dead or worse.”

“Me and Sam both tried that - every which way,” Dean said. “Didn’t stick.”

John grinned but Sam sighed, folding his arms. “Well we _really_ need the book. And we’re going to try it out, so—“

“Yeah, wait,” Dean interrupted. He walked closer to John. “You said the book was useless. What did you mean?”

John tilted his head. “I meant it’s useless. You can’t use it on demons. That’s what you want it for, right? Killing demons?”

“What? But you used it on a _dragon_ ,” Sam protested, his face a picture of horror.

“Yeah - a _dragon_ ,” John nodded. “Elementals, ethereals, Avalon folk and their kin - that’s who it works on. Demons from Hell? Not the book’s department.”

“No,” Sam said clearly. “I’ve _read_ about it. I’ve got _sources_. It can exorcise a demon from a human host - it can _hurt_ a demon.”

John’s eyebrows raised by themselves as he stared at the ground. He stuck the cigarette back in. “Sorry. It can’t.”

“But in Tobin’s Guide, it clearly says—“

John looked up. “Yeah… that might be a bit… inaccurate.”

Dean’s face went a notch darker. “What?”

John scratched behind his ear, then pulled the cigarette from his lips. “It’s a hoax. A bunch of drunken blokes got together and made up this list of spells an’ that. They told tall tales of other books and what they could do. None of it was real.”

“How do you know that?” Sam demanded.

“Uh… one of the blokes that did it? He was related.” He shrugged. “I mean, it was what, a hundred years ago, but you know, I can’t help finding it a bit funny.”

“Funny?” Dean demanded. He grabbed John by the lapels on his trenchcoat. John dropped his Silk Cut in surprise as Dean dragged him near off his feet, their faces barely an inch apart. “Trust me pal, there is nothing at all _funny about this_.”

“I can see that,” John managed, his hands flailing in helplessness. “Um. Put me down, yeah? Tell me what the hell’s going on and what you need to hurt a demon for. I might be able to help.”

Dean’s eyes burnt. John swallowed.

“Dean,” Sam said quietly. “Come on, man.”

Dean let go abruptly. John staggered back to get his balance. He slid his eyes to Sam as he straightened his shirt out.

Sam’s worried gaze was on his brother. However, Dean was rubbing a hand over his face in weariness. “Ok, so… we’re going back to the bunker,” he said.

“John,” Sam said, his eyes still on Dean. “We’re asking for your help. You—“

“No,” Dean said abruptly. “You _owe_ us, John. If we find these people and they’re not able to walk away from all this, then it’s on you. Do you understand me?” he snapped.

John looked at the ground. Presently he stretched his neck right and then left, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. “Same-old same-old,” he said quietly. “What do you need me to do?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Sam sniffed and made sure his voice came out as annoyed as before. “You seem to know a lot about demons - and we have a puzzle. Why would a yellow-eyed demon tell us that every demon walking the Earth is looking for this book?”

“Oh, one of them bastards, eh?” John said. “They’re just playground bullies. You kick ‘em in the balls and make ‘em realise they don’t have any friends that will come to save them, and they start to talk pretty fast.”

“We tried that,” Dean said flatly.

“Have you still got him?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam nodded.

“How long will it take to get to this ‘bunker’?” John asked.

Sam looked at his watch. “About eight hours.”

“Well then,” John said as he walked round the side of the Impala, “we stop every so often for a fag break.” He opened the rear door and looked back at them. “Wake me up in two.” He got into the car.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Dean rolled his eyes, then went straight to the driver’s door.

 


	9. Nine

NINE

 

_Contains another F-bomb._

 

Sam opened the door to the bunker, letting John in first. The shorter man marched in, hands in his pockets, to look around and stride off.

Sam and Dean carried in their duffles, ending up in the kitchen. Sam dumped his bag first. He looked across the table at Dean. “Beer?” he offered.

Dean wiped his hands down his face. “I am done,” he announced. “Even if we knew where the girls were, I wouldn’t be any use gettin’ them back. I need sleep.”

“Fair enough,” Sam nodded. Dean turned and disappeared from the kitchen, lugging his duffle after him.

Sam turned to the fridge as he rubbed a tired eye. He opened it up and found a beer, twisting off the cap and taking a swig.

“Not a bad place you’ve got here,” John said from behind him. 

He almost jumped in surprise. He turned and found John leaning on the doorjamb, his arms folded. “Yeah,” he allowed. “It kind of… found us.”

“Question,” John said. “The rooms… They don’t move, do they?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well…” He sniffed, as if looking for words. “They don’t change places, or change _sizes_ , when you’re not looking?”

Sam smiled. “No. Why?”

“Just wondered,” John said. He pushed himself up from the jamb and went round the altitudinous Winchester to the fridge. “Got any going spare?”

Sam waved a hand at it. “Go ahead.”

John pulled on the door and located his own beer. He opened it up and took a few good-sized pulls on it. Finally he looked at Sam. “So… I am sorry, mate. For taking the book and getting you mixed up my shit. But I had to do it.”

“Yeah,” Sam said with great unease. “Just… maybe steer clear of Dean for a while.”

“What’s his story?” John asked. “I mean, I know I pissed him off something proper, but… Tell him to get over it, yeah?”

“He will do,” Sam said quietly. “Just get this demon to talk.”

John sniffed to himself, then lifted his bottle, downing half of it without apparent effort. “Do you know this demon’s name?”

“The woman you scared off - she called him Malakatch.”

“Malakatch! Skeevy little shit,” John tutted.

“You know him?”

“I know _of_ him,” he said tersely. “He’s not a very useful demon. Except… he works for Malphas. Which means…” He paced across the kitchen in silence. Sam took a long pull on his beer, trying not to appear as impatient as he felt as John went backwards and forwards, apparently miles away. Abruptly John came to a stop. He glared at the table as if it held the secrets he so badly needed. “Tell you what,” he said suddenly. “Why don’t we all sleep on it. Dean was knackered - you must be too.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “We have like a tonne of rooms - you can have any one of them,” he said. “There’s like a massive washroom just down the hall - should be towels and stuff in there. Let me know if you need anything.”

John looked around the kitchen. “This place doesn’t have a smoke alarm, does it?”

Sam smiled. “No. But stand under a ventilation grate when you light up, ok?”

“Of course.”

Sam picked up his beer bottle. “We’ll come find you in the morning.”

John waved a palm up and Sam disappeared out of the door. John tilted his head, let something run through it a few times, and then dug his hand into his pocket. He brought out his lighter, and without him even noticing, his thumb snapped it open and closed, open and closed. His eyes narrowed as they lost focus on the here and now.

And then he smiled.

 

ooOoo

 

Sam swung open the bookcase and Dean ducked into the hidden room. His boots came to a screeching halt. “What the hell is going on here?”

Sam hurried up to his shoulder until he too stopped on a sixpence.

The light from the ceiling had shrunk to a circle, shining down on the demon, Malakatch. He was still chained to the chair, his back to them, his arms on the rests. Blood was leaking from his arms, the floor was water-splashed, and the darkness around the devil’s trap on the floor was making the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand up in trepidation.

“Dean! Sam!” Malakatch called. “Stop him! Get him out!”

They wandered in further, peering into the pitch black outside the circle. “Who?” Dean asked.

“That’d be me,” said a quiet voice.

They whirled and found a tiny red light in the darkest corner of the room. The red spot intensified, and then a long curl of smoke streamed out of the darkness. As it reached the fallout cast by the searchlight in the ceiling, it flipped and folded upwards, towards the giant fan above them.

Sam went back to the secret door and felt around for the light switch. He yanked the huge handle down and the main lights came on.

 John was sitting on an upturned bucket in the corner. His coat was lying on the floor by his left foot, his right shoe planted firmly on a stack of three heavy tomes. His right elbow was on his knee, the cigarette propped up just a few inches from an evil grin.

“What did you do?” Sam asked, going round to appraise Malakatch’s face. The demon had been sweating - apparently a lot, and for a while. His skin was ashen, his eyes red-rimmed and pinched half shut in some kind of reluctance to have them open at all.

Dean looked from the demon to John and back again. “Did you get anything?” he asked John.

John considered the hot end of his Silk Cut. “Your friend here is indeed Malakatch. And he did take four women from the accountant’s in the centre of town. The boss of the firm - the man whose skin he’s wearing right now - was a mason. He was rumoured to have bought a book in an online auction. Malakatch possessed the poor sod and kidnapped a car full of women going home from his office one night. One of them, Helena-the-unlucky, seeing as she’s now in a dumpster, tells him a DHL parcel turned up at work. Problem is, Fuckwit here thought it was the book, so he tortures the next unlucky bird, Moesha. She says she saw Mr Torrence put whatever was in the DHL parcel in his safe. He kills her too and the two poor birds end up in the rubbish skip. He goes into the office to find it, leaving Monica and Saanvi tied up in case he needs them later. Only, when he gets to the office, you two ruin his evening.” He puffed on the cigarette. “Mind you, that’s what he _claims_. They do say that confessions you get from interrogations are unreliable.”

Dean’s jaw stuck out. “You said you’d wait for us.”

“You said it was important,” John said amiably. “Now, I’ve had him telling me everything from Sam’s unfortunate history with birds to why the US Postal Service loses so much mail every year. What he’s _not_ telling me is what he wanted this book for, or where the remaining two girls are.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Sam studied Malakatch’s weary face. “You really went to work on him, huh,” he managed quietly.

“It wasn’t easy,” John sniffed.

Dean folded his arms. “But you can’t get it out of him?”

“Nope.” John dropped the cigarette, crushing it out with his left shoe. “Last chance, Malakatch. Spill, or we’ll take it higher.”

“Go screw yourself,” the demon panted.

“Been there, done that, still alive by the skin of my teeth,” John said to himself. He got up and ran his hands through his hair. Dean watched him approach the chair. He put his hands on the rests by the demon’s wrists, leaning in. “Come on, sunshine. Just spill. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”

“Screw you.”

“Where’s Malphas these days? I never see him around the blood bowl any more.”

“ _Screw you_.”

“In your wet ones,” John winked.

Malakatch pulled on his chains, shifting in the chair. “There’s nothing more you can do to me.”

John pushed himself up from the chair arms. He slid a hand in his pocket and pulled out a tissue. He leant down again, watching the demon’s yellow eyes stare back at him. Slowly, steadily, his hand went down and the tissue pressed into the slice in the skin of his forearm. The demon gritted his teeth and hissed curses at him, as John simply pushed it down - and down. Blood welled around it, but John still pressed. 

“ _Aargh!_ This is _childish!_ ” Malakatch raged.

John pulled the tissue back. “You’re right.” He lifted it to watch the blood seep across the surface slowly. “So let’s call Daddy and see what he says.”

“What?” Malakatch demanded.

John just smiled and walked round him and away. Sam huffed and followed. Dean tilted his head, then backed up and leant against the wall. He folded his arms, considering the demon in the chair.

“Where’s he gone?” Malakatch asked.

“Out,” Dean grunted.

The demon swallowed. “You have to stop him. You need me.”

“Like a hole in the head.”

“But I can help you! I can - I can get that mark off you!”

Dean smiled. “Of course you can. You wait till now to try that card. Little late, pal. And of course there’s no way you’re lying.”

“No - not this time. You have to believe me!”

“I don’t have to do a goddamn thing,” Dean growled. He pushed himself up from the wall and stalked toward the exit.

Malakatch struggled. “Look - you have to understand something!” he called. “Constantine! He’s mad! He’ll do anything to get what he wants. He doesn’t care if he screws you over or not!”

“Again, little late with that newsflash,” Dean called over his shoulder. He began to heave the bookcases closed.

“He’ll lie to your face! He’ll twist everything you have just to get his own way! And he _does_ get his own way - every time!”

Dean paused. “Really?”

“Yes!”

Dean smiled. “Good.”

“Good? Good?” Malakatch spluttered.

“Yeah. Cos right now, getting the location of these women out of you is his mission. So yeah, I hope he _does_ get his own way, every time.”

“Don’t turn your back on him,” Malakatch blurted.

Dean closed the bookshelves. He ignored the shouts and warnings from the hidden room. Instead he turned and walked down the corridor, wending his way round the bunker until he came to the kitchen.

He found John and Sam standing on opposite sides of the table, taking turns to throw small amounts of powdery substances into a mixing bowl. The outside was covered in strange inscriptions that neither Winchester recognised.

“Now we bring Malakatch’s master here,” John said with a smile. “We tell him that we have the little toe rag. He’ll want to drag him home, whereupon we get _him_ to torture info out of your yellow-eyed friend.”

“We can do that?” Sam asked.

“Whatever works,” Dean said.

John picked up the bloodied tissue from the counter top. “Final ingredient.” He tossed it in the bowl. The resulting mixture made a weird raspberry noise, causing a small puff of noxious smoke to rise out of the bowl. “Are we ready?”

“As ever,” Dean nodded.

John picked up the bowl. “When he appears let me do the talking.” He waited, and Sam and Dean nodded agreement. John cleared his throat and straightened his back. His hands raised the bowl between him and Sam. He paused. “I could just do this sittin’ down, you know. But this looks more impressive.” He brought himself straight. “Creatures of the underworld, lords of the garrisons, servants of the Fallen, I speak to you,” he said firmly. “Hear me, be bound to my voice and obey my order. Bring me the one who contains the essence of Malphas, the bearer of the tithes of Legion. Bind him to my will, bring him before me as my servant in all things, for payment only I can offer.”

Sam and Dean backed up slowly. They looked round the kitchen.

Nothing stirred.

John frowned. “I _order_ you to heed my will. You are summoned, Malphas. Now get your soddin’ hairy arse up here where we can talk about that numptie you own called Malakatch.”

The bowl cracked and then split right down the middle. John let go in shock as the mixture inside caught light. The mess of pottery and flames hit the table. The eyes of the three men followed the dance of the fire as it puddled in the remains of one side of the bowl.

John huffed. “Well, it doesn’t always work.”

Dean looked at him, then took a step back. “Whoa.”

John froze. “He’s behind me, ain’t he?”

Dean nodded, his eyes somewhere over John’s head.

John turned slowly as Sam and Dean made sure the table was between them and the tall, hulking figure behind John.

“Malphas?” John asked with a cocky smile.

The figure, a complete silhouette of nothing, moved slightly. Like a black hole, no light, no image escaped its outline. “Constantine,” rumbled a deep voice.

John looked round at Sam and Dean, then back at the non-entity. “You know me?”

“I know all about you,” it hissed. “What of Malakatch?”

“Before we get onto that,” John said, putting his hands in his pockets, “what’s his punishment?”

“Punishment?”

“Yeah. I figure, what with him getting himself caught by a couple of hunters - and so easily, I might add - and then spilling all about the book he let us find… Well. There’s consequences, right?”

Silence.

John sniffed and looked at his feet. “Far be it for me to tell you your job, squire, but I’m pretty sure he shouldn’t be handing out trade secrets like the fact that every demon and his mother is looking for a certain book. What do you reckon?”

“You and your associates are now _mine_.”

John lifted his hand from his pocket to wag a finger at the darkness. “You’ve got that backwards. See, I summoned _you_. Now I have to decide what to do with you.”

“You cannot harm me.”

“True. However, I could keep you here whilst my friends go off and send your precious Malakatch back to Hell. They could just stab him in the soul. Wipe him out. And you’ll never know if he told us where the book is - you’ll never get the book you sent him out for in the first place.”

“It matters not what he told you—“

Sam cleared his throat. “Think how pissed every demon in Hell is gonna be when they find out you could have stopped Malakatch talking to us - and didn’t. And you need that book, right? I mean, you _really_ need it.”

John nodded. “We could kill the little gobshite before you have the chance to ask him where it is.”

The figure swayed slightly. “You could.”

“Glad we agree.” He looked over his shoulder at Sam and Dean. “If he doesn’t go for the deal, you go kill him.”

Dean smiled. “Gladly,” he nodded. Both Winchesters reached out and took a shiny charmed knife each from the counter.

John turned back to the figure. “Think fast, Malphas.”

“You—.” It paused. “I will take him from you.”

“No, Sam or Dean will kill him,” John said.

The figure did not move. “He belongs to me. I will get my book from him and determine what his punishment should be. Give him to me.”

“What if I told you… _I_ had the book,” John smiled.

The figure hissed, low and angry; an eerie moment of dark intent. “You lie.”

“Frequently, and with style. But I do have your book, Malphas, and I know what it’s for. Now if you want it, you’ll have to do something for me.”

“I do not serve humans.”

“Now now now,” John smiled. “Nobody used the S word.”

“I do not serve humans.”

John’s smile faded. “Except the ones that _summon you and order you to_.”

“You—. You have a point.”

“So,” John said. “You have a choice. Go in there and get Malakatch to give up his two hostages - who bloody well better be in good nick. In return, you can take him home, and I’ll even give you the book.”

“What? No!” Sam blurted.

John spun lazily to look at him, his hands in his pockets. “Calm it, Sam. Trust me.”

Dean’s eyes stole over to John, then went to Sam. He stretched his shoulders out against the sudden worrying tickle brought on by John’s words.

“All you want is the location of some humans?” Malphas rumbled.

“Not just any humans,” John said, his gaze back on the black hole. “I want the hostages he took from the office, and I want them unscathed. Physically, emotionally, and in all other ways _perfectly ok_.”

The form swished, black smoke melting up from the floor to flip and snap in slow motion around where the head should have been. “And in return, you, John Constantine, will give me Malakatch _and_ the book?”

“Scout’s honour,” John smiled, holding up three straight fingers. “Dib dib dib, and all that. Do we have a deal?”

“You think me as stupid as yourself,” the form growled.

John’s face abruptly flipped to broadcast complete innocence. “How’s that then?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, gripping their respective knives tighter.

“You ask for one thing yet offer me two. I know what that means,” the figure warned.

John looked at his feet. “Yeah, kind of thought you might. But you know what, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“I would owe you,” Malphas seethed.

John snapped his fingers. “That’s right - you’ll owe me.”

“I will _kill_ you.”

“You could. You’d still owe me,” John shrugged.

“You are _infuriating_.”

“You’re wasting time. In about a minute from now Malakatch will be hanging off the pointy end of a Winchester’s knife. I’m thinking Dean’s, but you never know, Sam might get there first. Want to make a wager on whether his longer legs will beat Dean’s?”

The outline of Malphas grew a foot taller out of sheer anger. “Give him to me.”

“You’ll be in my debt.”

“ _Give him to me_.”

“Do you agree to the deal?”

“I—.” There was a deep, raging huff. “You insignificance!”

“Do you agree to the _deal?_ ” John demanded.

“I—.” A pause, a long, horrible moment of prickly trepidation. “I agree. Now _give him to me_.”

John waved a finger round in a slow circle. “And…?”

There was an unearthly grinding noise. “…And… I will be in your debt.”

“Ok then,” John grinned.

“You will burn, Constantine. I will find you, whether it be soon or the end of time. I have patience. You are human. I can already see your end, and how your soul will dance for me on the hooks of Hell,” the figure seethed.

“Yeah yeah,” John said, waving a hand at him in dismissal. “That’s what they all say.” He paused to put his palm up. “Malphas - you may harm none but your minion Malakatch. You are bound to me, and must follow me wherever I go. Should I wish it, you will use your influence with Malakatch, as your minion, to aid me.”

The figure wisped into black storm clouds. It tumbled and billowed, throwing everything not nailed down to the tiled floor. The three men grasped at the table for support as the storm clouds blew out of the door. 

They recovered some balance and looked at the exit.

“Go! Go!” John shouted. “Get to Malakatch first!”

Sam and Dean pulled on the table to get up momentum as they ran from the room. John pounded after them, hoping only to catch up with the smoke.

 

 


	10. Ten

TEN

 

 

Sam skidded to a stop by the bookcase. He heaved it open to run into the hidden room.

Malakatch was staring at the awesome outline of a black hole, fuzzy with wispy black smoke around its edges, that was hovering outside the devil’s trap on the floor.

“You have come for me!” Malakatch cried in relief. “Have you slain the humans?”

The dark smoke swished to and fro inside the blackness. “You will tell me what you have done with the females you stole.”

Dean came round the corner and stopped dead - until John smacked into his back and they staggered closer to the devil’s trap. No-one appeared to notice.

“What?” Malakatch asked, confused. “You want the two women? Oh! As gifts! Yes - they’re still alive. I was keeping them for food, or in case I needed another meatsuit. But please, take them!”

“Gifts?” Malphas asked quietly, as if trying the idea on for size and finding it several sizes too small.

“Yes! Yes!” Malakatch grinned. “Please take them. I only kept them for souvenirs. They are yours. Trinkets for a prince.”

The black hole twirled. It shifted back, away from the circle. “The females… are not your property. They are no-one’s property to give and take.”

“A feminist demon. Now I’ve seen everything,” Dean said.

John poked his head out from behind him. He walked out and round, looking down at Malakatch. “Where are they then?”

Malakatch spat at him. 

John watched the offending water land well short of his feet. “Rude,” he accused. He looked up at the black hole of Malphas. “Get the address.”

The form shifted and vibrated in anger. “Malakatch. Give me their location.”

“I don’t understand,” Malakatch said. “Why are you listening to this maggot? Kill him!”

“Are you gonna let him order you around like that?” Dean asked the angry black figure.

A single black swirl curled out from the form. It swam through the air to stop right in front of Malakatch’s right eye. “Give me their location.”

The demon gibbered. “But my lord—“

The black smoke rushed into his eye. He screamed and writhed in agony. Sam and Dean raised their eyebrows, nodding in approval as if rehearsed. They caught each other making identical faces and cleared their throats, backing up to the wall and watching.

Malakatch screamed bloody murder.

John pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one up as if he had all the time in the world.

Malakatch raged in pain, in absolute soul-rending agony.

Dean sniffed and checked his watch. Sam scratched at his head, pushing hair round his ear. John took a drag on the cigarette and then lifted the lighter to his ear, shaking it and trying to gauge how full it was.

Malakatch was unable to scream any longer. He collapsed, limp, to the chair. The black smoke snaked back out of his skull, only to circle above his head in dire warning. “Ok,” he panted. “Ok. They’re in the… This meatsuit has an apartment. They’re right - right across the hall. The dude who lives there… he’s abroad.”

Sam nudged Dean’s elbow. Dean nodded and left the room without looking back. John looked to be too busy enjoying his cigarette to notice what the demon was sweating out of his mouth.

“And… they’re ok,” Malakatch breathed. “I hadn’t - hadn’t started on them yet. They’re ok.”

“Fortunate. Every vessel should be looked after, Malakatch, not treated as property. It seems I have much to retrain in you,” Malphas hissed. The form swirled and regrouped, retreating to one gaseous form. “Constantine… You have your information. Now I require my payment.”

John smiled. “He’ll be all yours, squire. — _After_ I’m satisfied we’ve got the girls back safe and sound.”

Malphas’ form began to break up. It swirled toward the chair, and the demon looking perfectly horrified in its chains.

“You wanted the book too, right?” John asked.

The black smoke halted in front of the seated demon’s right eye socket. “Yes. Give it to me.”

Sam pulled it from inside his jacket. He looked at the cover, then at the form. “What’s it for? Why do you need it?” he asked cautiously.

John coughed suddenly. “Erm - don’t really matter, Sam. Just get ready to hand it over.”

“You will give it to me,” Malphas hissed.

“Uh… no,” Sam said. “I don’t think so. Not until Dean’s back - and you tell me what this is.”

“I do not have an agreement with you,” Malphas growled.

“But you do with _me_ ,” John said firmly. “And _he’s_ with me. If you touch him, you upset our deal, mate.” He looked at Sam, eyes like daggers. Then he turned back to the swirling vortex of evil smoke. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Why _do_ you want it? It can’t harm demons.”

“No,” Malphas said slowly. “But… it is meant for the destruction of Avalon.”

“What’s Avalon got to do with you?” Sam asked.

“Answer him,” John ordered.

The form swirled and rotated in anger. “This is not part of our agreement.”

“And yet you owe me,” John said sharply. “If I were you, I’d ‘fess up right now.”

“I need it to wipe out Avalon,” Malphas said reluctantly. “With the consciousness gone, the English-speaking world will be powerless against any demon.”

There was an awful silence in the room.

“What?” Sam dared.

“Avalon is the ancestral home of the Anglo-Saxon,” Malphas hissed. “With their collective spirit destroyed, all descendants will be opened up to demonic possession. My kind will have enough vessels to outnumber free humans. We will stalk across your lands and take back what is rightfully ours.”

John stared.

Sam stared.

Malakatch laughed. “Ha!” he cried. “You see? You see the beautiful horror of my lord’s plan!”

John put his hand up as if it could bring everything and everyone to a stop. “Woah horsey. You want to wipe out mankind by taking possession of anyone who’s a descendant of Avalon? Good luck with that.”

“Explain,” Malphas demanded.

“Well, don’t know if anyone from your camp has been topside, but…” John paused, then looked at Sam for help.

“Yeah,” he blurted. “Because, um… Out of the entire population of this world? Barely fifteen percent are even descended from white Anglo-Saxon people. I mean, you’ll be pretty hooped with most of America, and like, well, Canada, Australia, New Zealand… They’re natives, not settlers. And Africa? Let’s not go there - not to mention they have enough voodou to keep you out for centuries. And then there’s Asia, not to mention—“

“But France,” John said. “Bloody frogs. You can have them. Not that anyone would notice.”

“Woah woah woah,” Malakatch cried in outrage. “This vessel’s mother is half French! There’s nothing wrong with French people!”

John pointed at him with his lighter hand. “You - shut it. You don’t get a vote; you’re not even human.”

“If what you say is true, there will be a glorious battle between light and dark,” Malphas announced.

“Now you’re just being racist,” John tutted.

“He meant good and evil,” Sam said with a half-suppressed smile.

“You see, that’s what I mean,” John continued. “Why is good ‘light’ and evil ‘dark’? That’s some pretty Freudian word-play right there.”

“I do not understand _anything_ that you say,” Malphas interrupted. “No matter; I will take my minion now, as per our agreement.”

“I don’t think so,” John said. “Dean hasn’t confirmed the hostages are ok yet. Nothing happens till we hear from him. Bearing in mind that _demons lie_ , I think we’ll wait till we get the nod.”

“Are you accusing my minion of lying to me?” Malphas hissed.

“I’m not accusing, pal, I’m saying it outright,” John scoffed. “He lies for a living. Why would I believe a word out of his mouth?”

“Some could say the same of you,” Malphas seethed.

John smiled. “Takes one to know one, then. We wait.”

“We wait,” Sam nodded.

 

ooOoo

 

Dean pulled up at the kerb. He didn’t even lock the Impala before he ran full pelt down the concrete path to the block of apartments. He skidded to a halt at the speaker box, barring his way into the private residences. Muttering something under his breath, he pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. He thumbed at the speed-dial and slapped the phone to his ear.

“Yeah - Sam. Get him to give you the door code to the apartments,” he blurted. He heard a rustle of material over the mouthpiece at Sam’s end, then a shout. He raised his eyebrows as a tortured scream filtered down the line. “Sam?”

“Yeah,” was Sam’s response. “He says it’s nine three eleven.”

“Got it.” Dean went up to the door and keyed it in. “How _is_ our guest?”

“He’s uncomfortable. Malphas is not happy with his treatment of the humans he was planning to keep healthy enough to possess.”

“What?”

“Just get the women - they’re called Monica and Saanvi.”

“He said opposite his meatsuit’s apartment, right?” Dean asked, pulling open the door and heading inside. 

“Yeah. You got it?”

Dean bent to read the names on the mail boxes. “Torrence. Fifth floor. I’ll keep you posted.” He snapped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket as he turned to find the fire exit. He pushed it open and began to race up the stairs.

 

ooOoo

 

“So… when you have this book,” Sam said as he let the phone fall from his ear, “you’ll start waging war on Avalon?”

“That is none of your concern,” the figure hissed.

John swayed to look at Sam. He cleared his throat, then went to his coat in the corner of the room. He searched through the pockets and found a packet of Silk Cut. He lit up a fresh cigarette, watching the whirling mass of black hole hover a few innocuous tentacles of smoke over Malakatch’s head. John dropped the packet back on top of the raincoat, the Zippo falling to his side. He pondered something for a long moment. “How is Hell these days?”

“A disgrace,” Malphas spat. “The Winchesters have ruined everything.”

Sam grinned, folding his arms. “You’re welcome.”

They heard a low growling sound and Sam’s grin faltered as he realised the figure did not share in his amusement.

“My lord will _tear you apart_ ,” Malakatch hurled. “You have interfered too many times!”

“Hush,” Malphas growled. The black smoke smoothed over Malakatch’s head, making him shiver and stretch back to be out of contact.

John walked around behind Sam slowly. The Winchester felt something at his side, but when he looked, there was nothing there. John continued walking, apparently aimlessly, round the back of Malakatch’s chair. “Funny how you’re the one sticking up for your ‘lord’, when he’s just dying to shred you into ribbons,” John commented.

“If you had not summoned me, if I had found you with Malaktach by myself, it would be _you_ shredded into ribbons,” Malphas rumbled.

“Yeah? Will I did, so you can’t,” John said with a shit-eating grin.

“You are thinking of double-crossing me,” Malphas said suddenly. “It will not work.”

“Me? Perish the thought,” John said innocently. He puffed on his cigarette for a moment. “I’m as good as my word, mate. I said I’d give you this waste of space and the book, and that’s what I intend to do.”

Sam looked at him, his eyes narrowed. He frowned and his hands went into his jeans pockets, something about John’s smile making him very uncomfortable. His left hand encountered something metal and he paused to slide his long fingers around it. Square, metal and very hard, his fingers picked up some kind of engraving on the side - and then a seal round one end. _Why did John just put his lighter in my pocket?_ he wondered. _What do I need a lighter f—. Oh_.

John’s eyes flicked at Sam, then went back to Malphas. “Bit boring this, innit? Waiting for Dean’s call, I mean.” He took a drag on his cigarette. “Here, torture your monkey for a bit, give us some entertainment.”

“Screw you, Constantine!” Malakatch raged. John gave an evil chuckle as the demon yanked on his chains.

“Be still,” Malphas said. Malakatch froze in fear. The tendrils of smoke retreated slightly from the seated demon’s head. “You are not entertainment. For anyone.”

“Suit yourself,” John said, somewhat disappointed.

Sam’s fingers pressed into the Zippo. He stepped back casually to lean against the wall. His fingers began to pick at the plug on the underside of the lighter.

 

ooOoo

 

Dean huffed his way to the landing of the fifth floor. Panting for his life, he jogged down the corridor until he found the apartment door supposedly belonging to William Torrence. He turned about face and looked at the other door.

He pulled his gun and let it dangle at his side. He stepped back, lifted a boot, and slammed it into the door. 

It splintered and gave. He poked his head around the gap. The inside was mostly black. He raised the gun, slid around the doorjamb, and made for the sliver of light coming from the left.

As he advanced on it he detected a slight noise, a movement. He froze and scanned what area he could see. Nothing moved.

He took another few steps and found the light coming from an alcove off to his left. He slipped around its ninety-degree bend and found a hallway, lit up by moonlight coming in from an open door.

A slow, silent walk took him to the one closed door at the end. He made his way down, checking over his shoulder, then ahead, both hands on the gun, his arms out straight.

He reached the door and pressed his ear to the wood. Something moved inside. He grasped the handle and turned as he plastered himself back against the wall.

A force of anger with sharp claws came howling out with a crash. Dean jumped half out of his skin. His arms aimed the gun at the spitting whirlwind of orange and black.

Until he realised it was a cat. He made his gun drop. He took a deep breath to calm his pseudo heart attack, wagging a finger at the animal. “You nearly ended up in an early grave, Jonesy,” he managed. The cat hissed at him before turning tail and skittering off. He heard a noise inside the room. He poked his head around carefully, his gun following. “I swear, if this is another cat—.”

He crept around the jamb and into the room. He found two women tied up on the rug. Hastily pocketing his gun, he knelt down at the first one, currently trying to scream from behind the duct tape over her mouth.

“Hey - hey! Relax! I’m here to get you out,” Dean said. He went for the ropes on her wrists. “I’m just going to get you free first, ok? Don’t scream.”

She nodded her red hair at him, tears breaking down her face. As he worked at the knots he looked around her to the other woman, her black hair spilling every which way.

“Everyone ok?” he asked. “Apart from being in here for like a few days.”

She nodded furiously. He got her hands free and she scrabbled at her duct tape herself, getting it off as Dean moved to the second woman. “I’m guessing you’re Saanvi,” he said. She nodded, her eyes glazed, her attention wandering. He had her ropes undone, the first woman fighting ropes from her ankles as she tried not to sob in relief.

“Who are you?” the redhead asked hoarsely.

“I’m here to help. We found your boss. He did this, right?” Dean asked.

“That psycho killed Helen and Moesha! Are you the police? Did you get him?” she raged. “I want him to suffer!”

Dean smiled. “Oh sweetheart, I can guarantee he is really suffering right now. And he’s going to go on suffering for a very long time.”

She flumped back to the bed behind her.

The dark-haired women untangled herself from ropes with unsteady hands. She tried to stand but it was too much. She sank back to sit on the rug.

The redhead scrubbed at her face. “Saanvi’s not well. Have you brought an ambulance?”

“Monica, right?” Dean asked. She nodded. “Phone the police. Get an ambulance. I have to go.”

“What?” she demanded, following him back to the door. “But what about Saanvi? Mr Torrence? What the hell was this all about? You can’t leave us like this.”

“Monica,” he said seriously, turning to look at her. She backed up one in trepidation. “You got this. You’re one of those people that gets angry and makes things happen.”

“How can you tell?” she asked quietly, but she was looking across the room to the phone on the table.

Dean looked over at the black-haired woman and saw her lean back, her eyes shut, perfectly willing to let the entire world pass her by. “Because Saanvi’s losing the will to stay awake. All you want is to torture William Torrence. Right?” he said clearly.

“Damn right,” Monica growled.

Dean smiled. “See? Now call the police.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m not here.” He went for the door.

Monica watched, open-mouthed. Then she drew in a deep breath and launched herself at him. 

They went down in a heap. She hammered him down into the wooden floor. Her grip went into his throat and she slammed her right fist into his face.

His knee shot up and pounded into her back. She coughed out in shock. He put his hands up and heaved. She was thrown to the side. He scrambled to his feet, searching for his gun. “What the hell, lady?” he demanded, nursing his throat.

She was already on her feet. She blinked and her eyes went black. “How apt,” she grinned.

Dean sagged in abrupt realisation. “Son of a bitch,” he sighed.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

ELEVEN

 

 

“So you and Torrence - you were in this together from the start?” Dean asked.

Monica, all black eyes and snarling teeth, bared her nails. “What do you care?”

“Well… between you and me?” he asked, his eyes tripping over his gun on the carpet. “You may want to rethink that little alliance.”

“And why’s that?”

Dean’s face produced the most unctuous smile it was capable of. “Because we have him, and his boss, in our basement. In fact, we have his boss torturing him.”

“You lie,” she growled.

“Only on Tuesdays.” He looked past her to Saanvi, who was still struggling to find the right way up. “Now this can go one of two ways,” he said confidently. “You can leave Monica’s body, right now, and we can both walk away.”

“I like the other way better.”

“You _want_ to die?” he said in apparent surprise. “You sure?”

She lunged for him. He dived at the floor and rolled. His hand connected with the gun on the carpet. He took three shots even as momentum brought him back upright on one knee.

The three specially-prepared bullets went straight into her arm. One hit her in the knee. She snapped upright, teetering on her heels. Then she simply keeled over backwards, growling and spitting.

Dean got up slowly. He looked over at Saanvi, finding her with her eyes shut, her arms hugged around her as if cold. “Hey - Saanvi? Saanvi, can you hear me?” he asked. He crouched in front of her. Her eyes crept open and she made a half smile. “Stay here, ok? I’m going to get you out, but you’re gonna have to wait just a little longer. Ok?”

She melted backward, apparently unable to focus on anything.

He went back to the door, checking the carpet carefully. He noticed his shiny knife lying by the doorjamb and whisked it up, going back to the trapped demon on the floor. 

“Now I warned you,” he said, crouching next to her. She snarled and growled. He waved a hand at her. “Little late to be pissed at me.” He flipped the knife round in his hand. 

“Don’t kill the vessel,” she hissed. “I’ll leave.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. He considered her for a long moment.

“Please,” she breathed.

Dean scratched at the side of his chin with his free hand. “A while ago I might have gone for that,” he mused. “But today? I know the harm you’ve been doing that poor woman. I know how she’ll feel, what she’ll go through when you cast her off. I know she’s now got three bullet holes in her.”

“I’ll heal her - I will,” she gasped. “Please!”

He paused. “What about what you’ve made her watch, what you’ve made her do?”

“You can’t kill her - she’s innocent,” she begged.

Dean grinned. He wagged a finger at her. “You’ve got me there.”

“Let me out!”

He slammed the knife down into her chest.

She jerked and flashed, lights running up inside her skull, her neck. It fizzed and crackled, quieter with each pulse.

Eventually, all was quiet.

Dean pulled the knife free and stood. “I also know she was already dead,” he said, his face telling tales of regret. He stood and looked over at Saanvi. Wiping the knife clean on the bedspread, he put it and his gun away before he leant down and grabbed her by the arms. “Hey - Saanvi.” He helped her to her feet.

She nodded. “Ye-ah,” she managed. “Who - who are you? Where’s my car?” She looked around groggily. “Where am I?”

Dean pulled a metal flask from his back pocket. “Here. Water.”

“Oh,” she breathed. She tried to grip the flask but he had to help her sip it a few times. He waited. 

But she only looked at him, lost. “Thank you,” she managed, putting her arms round him.

He held her up with one arm, pushing the flask back in his pocket. “We’re calling the police, ok?” he said. “Police. Yes?”

“Yeah,” she said faintly. She pulled back but took hold of his arm. “Yeah. Police. Thanks.”

He held her up with an arm round her, his other hand going in his pocket for his phone. He snapped it open and dialled. “Police, please. Yeah. Five-one-one Acacia Boulevard, five F Waterstone Apartments. Yeah. Someone’s been killed. I don’t know. I heard screaming and I forced the door. There’s one woman here - really shellshocked. She was tied up.” He paused. “Look, I don’t know, man! Just get here and bring an ambulance!” He snapped the phone shut as they reached the door to the bedroom. 

“Who are you?” she asked. “Do you live here?”

“Nah,” he said dismissively. “I was just passing. I heard you screaming - I heard you screaming and I knocked down the door. That woman tried to kill you.”

They stumbled out into the main room and he helped her down to a chair. “Thank you,” she said, trying to smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t… I can’t remember who you are.”

“Good,” Dean said under his breath. “You know, I’ve got this… uh… friend. He knows how to put the whammy on people. He could make you forget all this, I bet. Pity he’s not here.”

“Friend,” she repeated softly. “A friend.”

“Yeah, that’s me. A friend. A friend who’s leaving.” He aimed for the door.

“But… police,” she said.

“They’re on their way. You stay in that chair, ok? Don’t you move.”

“But… Helen and Moesha. My friends. Where’s Monica?” She looked around, frowning. “Where am I? I was in the car—“

“You were. But now you’re here,” Dean interrupted. He went back to the chair, put his hands on the armrests. She looked up into his eyes. “You’re ok now. You’re safe.”

“I’m… ok?”

“Yes. You’re safe, and the police are coming. Just stay in that chair. You’re just in shock and you need water.”

“Oh. Yes. Ok,” she said faintly. “I’ll just… sit here.” She rested back in the chair, a hand to her head.

Dean hesitated. He looked at her, chewing on the side of his lip. Then he pushed himself up resolutely and headed for the door.

 

ooOoo

 

Sam felt his phone vibrating and fished it out of his pocket. “Hey,” he said quickly. “What? Another one? Well did you—. Oh. And what about—. Right.” He paused. “Yep. Got it. Good.” He pushed the phone back in his right pocket, his left hand still teasing the plug from the lighter in his left. He sniffed and looked over at John as the plug came free. He kept the lighter upside down as he looked at him. “Dean says only one of them survived.”

“One?” John asked. “You said there were two birds.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking at Malakatch with the utmost judgement. “One of them was already dead - possessed.”

Malakatch began to chuckle. “What? I was recruiting.” His face fell slowly. “Did he kill her?”

“Yes,” Sam said.

Malakatch snarled and struggled. “She was one of my favourites!” 

“Not even sorry, mate,” John said cheerfully.

Malphas hissed and swirled to regroup behind Malakatch. “You must now release my demon to me, and give me the book.”

John shrugged, taking a drag on his Silk Cut before it all came back out through his nose. “Fair enough. A deal’s a deal.” He raised a palm and stretched his hand out toward Malakatch. “You are now the property of whom I summoned,” he said firmly. “You belong to Malphas, and are bound to him until he leaves this place.”

Malakatch spat at him. 

John let his hand drop. “Is that demon for ‘thank you’?” He flicked his cigarette butt at him, making Malakatch hiss and swear.

“You must not harm him now that he is mine,” Malphas warned.

“That wouldn’t harm him and we both know it,” John tutted. “Now then,” he said, rubbing his hands together and advancing on the chair, “I’ll just let you out of those bracelets whilst Sam takes care of your book for you. Right, Sam?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

He lifted his left hand from his pocket, keeping the lighter in his palm. He used it to pull the book from inside his jacket, making sure some of the lighter fluid spilt on the cover. He pulled the book free, his finger poking into the pages. Fluid seeped into the paper.

“Hand it over,” Malphas demanded, floating closer to Sam. 

John paused to watch. Sam kept the lighter upside down between him and the book, forcing the plug back into the base. Then he grasped it in his clean right hand. He flicked it once.

The book went up in a torrent of bright yellow flames. 

“Whoops!” Sam said innocently. He dropped the raging fire to the floor. 

Malphas roared and billowed into a howling gale of black smoke. 

Malakatch, yanking at his wrists still in chains, stopped to lean back in fear. “Now he’ll kill you!”

Sam pulled his knife, uncertain what to do. 

The black smoke whirled and swept around him. As it took hold he felt himself lifted off the ground. It stroked at his skin, sought out his mouth. It jerked back, horrified. He was whipped around like a spinning top, flying through the air.

He pounded into John. The two humans went rolling across the concrete. Sam grabbed a bookshelf and hauled himself up. “What do we do?” he called into the screaming wind.

“You protected from possession?” John shouted back, one hand round his ear.

“Yeah - you?”

“Kinda,” he shouted. “You exorcise Malakatch - I’ll do Malphas!”

“What?”

“We’ve got a finite amount of time before Dean gets back and opens that door! We can’t let them out!” John shouted.

“We tried and exorcism already - it doesn’t work!” Sam argued.

“Do what you have to - just get Malakatch out of that bloke!”

Sam crawled through the black blizzard, his knife still in his hand. He found the chair through blind luck. His hand went up to the side and he pulled himself to his feet. “Malakatch!” he cried.

“Let me go!” he raged. “We had a deal, Winchester! You owe me my freedom!”

Sam heard John’s voice shouting into the storm of anger and hatred surrounding them. He stretched a hand toward Malakatch. “ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!_ ” he shouted. The demon struggled and cursed at him. Sam continued to shout into the wind. It buffeted his arms, his head, everything. His words were ripped from his lips by the angry hurricane. 

Malakatch began to laugh, the whole thing drowned out by Malphas’ furious form. “That tickles!”

Sam racked his brain. He grasped the chair arm to keep himself steady. “ _Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine!_ ” he tried. “ _Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias, libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos! Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris, te rogamus, audi nos!_ ”

Malakatch just laughed at him, shaking his his head in the hurricane of angry dark air.

Sam fumed. He raised his knife over Malakatch’s head.

“Wait!”

Something snatched at his wrist, kept it from plunging the blade into the demon’s host. Sam pulled but all he did was swing John round into his line of vision. He yanked but John kept his hand clamped on Sam’s wrist.

“Stop!” John shouted. “We need him!”

“You said get rid of him!” Sam cried. “I can’t exorcise him! We need to kill him!”

“I said get it _out!_ ” John called. “We need him!”

“I don’t get it!” 

John let go of his arm. “Trust me!”

Sam let the knife down. John grabbed at Sam’s upper arm for balance, as the howling smoke tried to lift him off his feet. Sam gripped his arm and weighed him down. “Do what you’re gonna do, man!” Sam shouted.

John shouted something unintelligible into the smoke. Sam had to grasp his arm with both hands as the smaller man was hauled clean off the floor by at least a foot. He was twisted and buffeted high up into the air, Sam’s hands the only thing between him and being smashed against the ceiling. He continued to shout, one arm outstretched. Sam felt himself beginning to lift. He pulled them across the room to reach out and grab the handle for the master light switch. John was heaved up into the gale but Sam held on. John’s voice continued.

The smoke writhed and roared around them. Malakatch shrieked insults, threats, curses. 

Abruptly the blackness swirled into a single cloud against the ceiling. John began to plummet to the concrete. Sam lost purchase on his arm and the handle to the light switch. John landed on his back, his head bouncing against the floor. He opened pained eyes and looked up. 

Sam crouched. “You alright, man?” he panted.

John looked past him to the ceiling. Sam looked up. 

The black smoke was hanging around the lights in the corner, pulsing with intent. Sam got to his feet slowly, backing up to put Malakatch and his chair between him and the clouds.

John got some breath back. He pointed up at the clouds. “ _Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt_ ,” he managed, his throat raw. “I command you, Malphas, in all forms. You obey me, you are adjured, you will heed my will or be scattered to the gales of Hell, you impure shade of _shit_.” 

The clouds billowed and flipped. They swirled down, tunnelling right into Malakatch’s chest. He screamed and bucked but the clouds disappeared into him.

He went limp, his head tipping forwards to land on his chest.

Sam swallowed and came around the chair to look at him. John coughed, still on his back, as he muttered something to himself, and then wiped his face of sweat. Sam turned and looked at him. He crossed to him and put a palm out. John reached up and took it, and between them they got him on his feet.

“Thanks,” John said, patting his arm. He put his hands on his knees and panted for a moment, then pushed himself upright and went to the form in the chair.

“What did you do?” Sam asked.

John smiled. It was not a nice smile, nor a moment Sam would forget easily. He shrugged into his jacket uncomfortably. John sniffed and rubbed a hand over his chin. “I bound him to Malakatch. They’re both in there,” he said, gesturing with his head to the host slumped in the chair.

“What?” Sam dared. “Both in there? Like, now? You can do that?”

“ _I_ can,” John said. He slid his hands into his pockets. “Would you do the honours?”

Sam’s eyes searched the floor. He found the knife lying by the hidden exit and retrieved it hastily. He came back but just looked at the unconscious man. “So… I can kill them both, right?”

“You can,” John. “Do it before they assert control. Right now they’re fighting it out. When they figure out that if they learnt to help each other, they’d be powerful enough to operate that meatsuit and overpower the chains, the sigils _and_ us two, then we’re proper screwed.”

“Uh… right,” Sam nodded. He cleared his throat, lifting the knife. 

John waited.

Sam paused.

John frowned.

Sam adjusted his grip on the knife.

“Come on, Sam,” John said.

“It’s just… normally it’s us or them,” Sam said. “I’ve never really… done it like this.”

“There’s a first time for everything. Think of them three dead women, for a start.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he nodded firmly. “Ok. Yeah.” He lifted the knife.

Then he let it down again. 

John looked at him.

“Can’t do it,” Sam sighed. He offered the knife to John.

“Are you kidding?” John said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not a fighter, I’m a lover and a runner.”

The bookcases scraped open and Dean wandered in. “What the hell is going on here?” he asked in surprise.

Sam and John looked over at him. 

John grinned, taking the knife from the taller man. “Catch!” he called. He tossed the knife underarm.

Dean snatched it from the air, his face one of judgemental retribution. “That was smart,” he accused. “What’s all this about?”

“Knife these demons for us, will you? Then this is all over,” John said.

Dean walked around the chair and looked down at the body of William Torrence. “What?”

“Both demons are in there. If they learn to work him we’re all in big trouble,” John went on. “So can you do us all a favour and knife them before they—“

Dean leant down and rammed the knife into the possessed man’s shirt. The entire body crackled and glowed. Dean let go and they stood back quickly. Yellow smoke and blue light arced over the body as it jerked and glowed in the chair.

Abruptly it all stopped. Dean was the only one to move. He went forward and withdrew the knife. He wiped it on the man’s trouser leg and stepped back. “Done,” he said with satisfaction. He looked at the other two, standing there with identical looks of surprise on their faces. “We _are_ done, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I think so.”

“Well the two demons are dead, you got the only bird left alive… So yeah, I think we’re sorted,” John managed.

“Right.” Dean looked around the room, at the way Sam and John’s hair was still part standing up, part wilting like haystacks after a twister. “Is someone going to tell me what happened here?”

Sam ran his hands through his hair and shuffled his feet.

John straightened his tie so it was no longer trying to pat him on the back. He looked down at the body in the chair, then around the room. “Well… It went like this…”

“Well?” Dean asked.

John’s mouth opened. He let it close again. Then he scratched behind his ear and looked at Dean. “I need a drink.”

“Me too,” Sam muttered.

Dean appraised the pair of them. “Where’s the book?”

“Gone,” Sam said. He looked around the floor, but all he could find was a black smudge on the floor. “We burnt it.”

“We?” Dean asked.

Sam smiled. “Yeah. We did.” He peeled off his jacket, folding it over his arm. “We all need a drink. Do we still have that motherload in the trunk of the car?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean said meaningfully.

“Right then,” John said, clapping his hands together and rubbing. “We get rid of this corpse in the morning. But for right now, the last one shit-faced has to admit to the others the most worrying thing about this entire episode.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. They backed up toward the exit as John grinned.

“I’ll just… uh… get the beer then,” Dean said casually.

Sam sped up to beat him to the door. “I’ll help.”

They turned and bolted from the room. 

John looked around, ran a hand through his hair to attempt to tame the mess of blonde, and then tipped his head up to appraise the ceiling. “Funny old week,” he mused to himself. He noticed his coat in the corner and went over slowly. He bent over with effort and picked it up, fishing in the pocket. Drawing out his packet of Silk Cut made him smile in relief. He felt through his pockets for his lighter. His face fell.

“Sam!” he called. “Oi! Where’s my lighter, you thieving git?”

He hurried out of the room after them.

 

 

**FIN**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap - thanks for reading, folks! Your reviews, comments, kudos or just plain attention are all gold dust. It's been fun, and I think it's given me an idea for a Constantine story... But that's for another time.  
> Thanks, you reading readers who read! It's all for you.


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